Bannon & Zevran Bk I: Origins Ch5: The Landsmeet
by Bloodsong 13T
Summary: Bannon & Zevran: one of the quickest, slickest, smartest, conniving, lying, thieving, assassining, & insanely annoying rogue duos ever. If they gather enough support to sway the Landsmeet, they get to go die in the Final Battle! ...Yay?
1. (the story so far)

**Bannon & Zevran: Book I: Origins: Recap**

_Author's Note:_

If you just happened by, this is not the start of the story (okay, saga :X). Look for the previous parts, if you want to start at the beginning. (Yes, it is LONG!) (But I hear it can still be devoured in only one weekend!)

* * *

_The story so far..._

**Origins: Part 1: Prelude -**

Bannon, a plucky street rat from the elven Alienage in Denerim, braved the wrath of the local human noblemen to rescue his cousin Shianni and other women from Vaughn Kendells' grasp. With help from Shianni's brother, Soris, he killed Vaughn and four other noblemen, but not before Shianni is raped. Soris was taken prisoner for the murders, but a man named Duncan recruited Bannon into the Grey Wardens, to combat the coming Blight.

===#===

**Origins: Part 2: The Grey Wardens -**

The Grey Wardens and King Cailan went into battle against the Tainted darkspawn horde, but General Loghain Mac Tir, the Hero of River Dane, retreated from the battle and left them to die. Alistair and Bannon, now initiated as a Grey Warden, were rescued from the Tower of Ishal by Flemeth, a self-proclaimed witch of the Wilds. She sent her daughter, Morrigan, to aid the last two surviving Grey Wardens in bringing their treaties and promises of aid to their allies.

Joining this trio are Leliana, a former bard of Orlais and Sister of the Chantry, who was sent a vision from the Maker, and Sten, a qunari from far-off Par Vallon, who was sentenced to die at the claws of the darkspawn after he murdered a family of farmers.

===#===

**Origins: Part 3: A Wolf in the Fold -**

The Wardens and their companions travel to Redcliffe to secure the aid of Arl Eamon against Loghain, who has set himself up as regent to rule Ferelden while blaming the Wardens for the king's death. However, Redcliffe is held in the grip of a nightmare, spawned by a demon possessing the arl's son, Connor. The companions fight a ghostly undead army, then rescue Connor at the price of his mother Isolde's life. Arl Eamon remains in a coma, and the Wardens begin the search for the legendary Sacred Ashes to cure him.

Zevran, a saucy assassin in the Antivan Crows, was hired to kill the Grey Wardens, but failed. He pled for his life, intending to escape from his bonds of slavery by joining the only people in the world who are tougher and more dangerous than the Crows - the Wardens.

The group made their way to the Circle Tower of mages, where a Blood Mage was staging a coup. With some help from Niall, a mage trapped in the Fade in the form of a mouse, the companions defeated both the Sloth demon and Uldred, the Blood Mage, to secure the help of the mages in the upcoming battle.

===#===

**Origins: Part 4: Partners in Crime -**

The companions follow the trail of Brother Genitivi, a scholar searching for the Sacred Ashes, back to Denerim, where Bannon discovers the Alienage is sealed off because of plague, after being harrowed by a Purge. Helpless to do anything to aid his family or people, he returns to the Wardens' mission.

Along the way, they aid Levi Dryden in reclaiming Soldier's Peak, an ancient Grey Warden outpost, inhabited by Avernus, a mage doing hideous experiments with the Taint to prolong the Wardens' shortened lifespan. They also discover a former royal guard being held and interrogated in the Bannorn by Loghain's allies, who imparts information to them about incriminating evidence against Loghain still left in Ostagar.

Finally, they discover Haven, an isolated and sealed-off town where the inhabitants have been guarding the Sacred Ashes since they were brought out of Tevinter, ages ago. The companions rescued Genitivi from a dragon-worshipping cult, made a deal with the cult leader, Kolgrim, to mingle dragon blood with the Sacred Ashes, entered the holy sacristy and passed the tests of the Guardian and the Gauntlet to earn the right to depart with a pinch of Ash.

Leliana persuades Father Eirik, a rival of Kolgrim's, to reconsider the sacred duty of the townspeople. Meanwhile, Bannon betrays Kolgrim and gets the dragon (who is a little peeved to find her babies killed and an egg stolen) to kill the cult leader and attack the cultists. The companions escape out of town with help from Eirik and return to Redcliffe, where the Ashes bring Arl Eamon out of his coma.

===#===

**Origins: Part 5: Friends and Lovers -**

Zevran finally offers to have sex with Bannon who, interested in pursuing their relationship further, agrees. Zevran is a total ass the morning after, and both elves agree it's just sex. It was really good sex, so Bannon continues, to the various states of dismay, disapproval, incomprehension, and/or just plain annoyance of the other companions.

In Honnleath, Bannon, Zevran, Leliana, and Morrigan discover the golem that goes with the control rod. They are able to rescue the town from a demon, but fail to save the little girl said demon was possessing. They then manage to activate the golem, which calls itself Shale, but the control rod doesn't work. Nevertheless, Bannon convinces Shale to join them.

They travel on into the Brecilian forest and meet the Dalish, who are plagued by attacks from Witherfang, a massive spirit wolf, and a pack of werewolves. The Wardens are grudgingly pressed into service to help, and they break a curse instigated many years ago by the Dalish leader Zathrian. Dakorian, the Hunter of the clan, is not impressed with the 'flat-ear' city elves, and Bannon gets fed up with his prejudiced attitude.

From there it is onward to the Frostback Mountains and the undermountain kingom of Orzammar. The group discovers "King" Loghain has sent emmissaries to Orzammar's doorstep, but none are admitted. Only the Warden Treaties get them in.

The kingdom is in turmoil, embroiled in a political deadlock over who should be voted the next king: Prince Bhelen, the king's son and possibly his murderer, or Lord Harrowmont, who claims the king named him successor on his deathbed. Of course, the Wardens get drawn into the political machinations and retrieve a book of lineage that was stolen and taken into Dust Town, the dumping ground for both Orzammar's sewage and its casteless, branded as criminals from birth.

The book indicates Harrowmont is not really a noble, though Alistair prefers him to be the next king. Meanwhile, Bhelen tasks them with a mission in the Deep Roads to find Paragon Branka's lost expedition. Led by Branka's estranged husband, Oghren, Bannon, Alistair, Wynne, and Shale travel into the darkspawn infested Deep Roads. They meet the Legion of the Dead and help them retake the fortress known as the Dead Trenches. They also witness the Archdemon summoning and herding the horde away from Orzammar, to launch an attack on the surface.

After encoutering the nightmarish Brood Mother, the group is forced to aid Branka in disarming Caridin's traps to enter the cavern that houses the Anvil of the Void, Caridin's invention for creating golems. They also find the ancient paragon, himself turned into a golem. Caridin explains how dwarves were forced to die to become golems, and begs them to destroy the Anvil. They agree, and Branka is killed in her bid to stop them and take the Anvil for herself.

During a fact-finding mission, Bannon discovers that Bhelen is intent on reforming the dwarven caste system and eliminating Dust Town, while Harrowmont, a staunch traditionalist, would prefer to seal Orzammar off from the surface entirely. Alistair agrees Bhelen is the better choice, at least for his people, and the Wardens aid Bhelen in taking the throne.

===#===

**The Relationship:**

Bannon took pity on Zevran, who was only a slave to the Crow Masters and wanted to be free. Plus, the thief was tired of being the only elf in the group. Zevran, being born in a whorehouse and trained by the Crows to seduce his targets, tried to use his charms on... well, everyone. He found the women unswayed, the qunari just impossible, and Fereldan men rather dense. But where Alistair would would go into chaste Chantry-boy conniptions whenever Zevran began coming on to him, Bannon would remain cool and calm.

As they traveled with their would-be assassin, Bannon came to know him better, the damaged and vulnerable person behind Zevran's suavity and braggadocio. He saw Zevran tortured by Crow trainers in the Fade, and got glimpses of the story of his mother selling him into slavery. Zevran truly wanted to be free, and Bannon was determined to help this elf who had become his close friend, and 'partner in crime.'

The two elves were closely matched, in physical prowess, in fighting skills, in quick thinking, in thought and opinion. Bannon mused it would be fun to travel the world with the assassin, living by their wits and their blades. Then he stole a pair of Antivan leather boots as a gift, and Zevran showed his appreciation with an unexpected kiss.

Bannon had to confront the possibility of a relationship with Zevran beyond friendship. It wasn't something he'd even contemplated (Bannon had plenty of women and liked them very much, thank you!). But... what if it could work?

He decided to try it, and he enjoyed it very much. However, Zevran made it _very_ clear that he was just a passing fling, and they were together only for the sex. Bannon agreed, to not look like a total fool. They have spent many nights together, but their feelings are buried. Zevran might have changed his mind about a more serious relationship, but he is sure Bannon is not interested. Sometimes, Bannon is too good of a liar.

===#===

**Now...**

The group, joined by Oghren, is heading east from the Frostbacks back towards Redcliffe, to rendezvous with Arl Eamon and go to Denerim to start the Landsmeet. After that, it is the final battle, should the Wardens live that long.

===_X_===


	2. Three Armies

**Three Armies**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: who knows  
Violence: no  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

This is gonna be short, because... face it, it's boring. And I cut out all the boring parts! HAH!

Oops... now I got... Ideas! (And I've been doing some re-reading. You can tell, can't you?)

* * *

**Three Armies**

==#==

"Hm hm hm hm-hm, they yell and fight, yell and fight...," the Templar hummed.

"Alistair," Bannon complained.

"What? It's a catchy tune - _Whoa._"

The Wardens crested the last hill before Redcliffe and stopped, looking down at the plateau above the city. There was now a second city, of wood and canvas, tents and wheeled aravels.

The armies of the Grey Wardens.

"Whoa," Bannon echoed. Then he called out, "Are you going to shoot at us again?"

"Who are you talking to?"

"The Dalish sentries."

"I don't see..."

"That's kinda their thing." Bannon looked around. There were a few trees the wild elves could be hiding in. Or maybe they didn't have sentinels here. "Huh."

The rest of the group was catching up to them, so Bannon shrugged and started down the slope. "Guess they don't-" A white-fletched arrow slammed into the dirt right in front of his foot. "AGH!" he squawked, leaping back.

Zevran laughed, and there was a stifled giggle from Leliana. Alistair put his gauntleted hands over his mouth.

Three Dalish Hunters glided out from the trees, led by that insufferable raven-haired Dakorien. He looked to be biting his tongue to keep from smiling. When he came within reach, he swept up his arrow and smirked at Bannon.

No, wait, he was smirking past Bannon, and if Bannon turned around and saw the assassin smirking back, there were going to be some bloodied noses.

No. No, losing his cool would just make him look even more foolish. He ignored them both. "That was a little slow," he commented dryly.

"Just a joke, Warden," Dakorien said with a smile.

"Didn't know the Dalish had a sense of humor."

"There is a lot about us you don't know."

Bannon just scowled at him and his superior attitude.

Dakorien stepped back, lowering his head deferentially. "I meant, the Dalish would be happy to teach our city brethren more about their heritage. But the shemlen will not allow us inside their city."

Bannon could imagine the panic that would ensue if even a handful of tattooed wild elves came walking down the street. He gestured for the Hunters to escort them through the encampment, and grilled Dakorien about his tribe's new leadership, their preparedness for war.

Lanaya was still the tribe's Keeper, though now that they were joined by other tribes, they might find her a new First. One of the clans had already travelled across the sea to the north. Bannon had to wonder if their forest ships were watertight enough to become actual ships. That must be some sight.

Leliana as concerned that the Dalish travelled as a whole clan, which left noncombatants like children mixed in with the warriors. She suggested that all but the Hunters return to their northward trek. This was met with some resistance, as none of them wanted to leave their children and other folk without protection in the human kingdom. And no one wanted able-bodied Hunters to leave the Redcliffe muster, and thus weaken the fighting forces.

It was ridiculous. Since the demon attacks on Redcliffe, the city was half empty; there was enough room to house the Dalish - if the Dalish would deign to live in a house, and if the humans would allow them in. Bannon thought maybe the Alienage elves could foster the Dalish noncombatants. Ironically, because the city was between the castle and the Alienage, they hadn't suffered as much loss.

Dakorien was also concerned about provisions. The Dalish didn't want to overhunt the surrounding lands. Bannon thought it was a moot point, since whatever they didn't eat was likely to become Tainted anyway. From the looks they gave him at this suggestion, they didn't agree. Finally, Alistair said, "There's plenty of fish in the lake."

So they would just have to arrange for fishing, preparation, storage, and distribution.

Next down the road, closer to the city's first bridge, was the mage encampment. They had a communal feast hall/practice hall/meeting area set up. For the number of mages strolling about, there were very few Templars.

Knight-Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving were still at the Circle tower, cleaning up Uldred's mess. A secondary commander, Harrith, was in charge, along with Senior Enchanter Erwin. There was a happy reunion with Wynne, and then Bannon addressed the issue of maintaining the armies - housing, latrines, laundry, and provisions. They directed him to the tent of a young redhead named Finn, somewhat of a scholar.

"You can't tell me magic can't do laundry," Bannon insisted. "And create food."

"You just can't create something out of nothing," Finn insisted. He had a cultured voice and accent, like a north Ferelden nobleman.

"Well, can't you turn rocks into bread?"

"Well... no! That's - There are fundamental principles of matter."

"And can't you make fireballs out of thin air?" Bannon argued.

"That's energy, not matter."

Alistair said, "What about the giant stone fist?"

"That's not matter," Finn tried to explain. "That's a material manifestation-"

Wynne just said, "You boys just don't understand."

Alistair said, "What about freezing? Mages can freeze things, right? So freeze the fish."

To which Morrigan said, "Your frozen food would keep, but it would quickly thaw in your backpack."

"In the winter, we would cut blocks of ice out of the lake and store them in the ice house," the Templar replied. "With sawdust between them. And they last nearly through the summer. We can keep fish in there for weeks."

Finn thought about it. "Well... we can freeze the fish. And then I suppose if several mages cast Blizzard, we could collect enough snow..."

"Why do you have to make a snowstorm?" Bannon complained. "Can't you just cast 'Snow' to make... you know, _snow?_"

"Most mage spells are, for some odd reason, quite destructive." Finn frowned in thought. "Makes you wonder why they keep teaching those... But! This brings us back to the inalterable fact that matter cannot be created nor destroyed."

Said Alistair, "You can create a snowstorm to create snow, but you can't create snow?"

"Exactly!" The mage smiled brightly.

"That makes no sense," Bannon said. Alistair nodded.

"It does if you've _studied_ magic!"

Wynne gave him a sympathetic look. "Finn, it's hopeless."

Then Zevran said, "Why do you not just create fire and _dry_ the fish? That is what we do in Antiva. Then you will not have to fuss about with ice and snow and cumbersome food melting in your pack."

Alistair replied, "Except the fish wouldn't be dried so much as turned into fiery ash."

"Well, the mages must learn a little more self control, I think."

"An intriguing idea!" Finn said. "I would dearly love to continue to study this problem and work on a solution! Instead of, say, going into - _ulp!_ \- battle? I-I-It is _really_ important the armies stay fed!"

"Sure," Bannon said offhandedly.

"Oh, thank you!" The young man grinned again. "This will be astounding! Think about it! I could design new, useful spells. I could - They could write my name in history books! I would have spells named after me...!"

They left him to his dreams of fame and magic laundry.

The next army was inside the city proper, the Redcliffe militia. Bannon couldn't help but notice a significant number in the practice yard were elves. Armed and armored. Of course, that was only practical. He supposed it was better to die fighting the Blight than to be killed in a Purge to 'even out the numbers.'

They met with Teagan, and explained the fishing and food storage situations. He told them he'd get someone right on it.

And then it was on to the castle, to some rooms with actual beds, and a nice dinner of, yes, fish. Afterward, Eamon and Teagan requested Alistair go talk with them in private. With a look of doom cast back at his comrades, he followed them out.

Perhaps they had to tie Alistair down and force him to agree to put forth his claim to the Ferelden throne. Or they had a lot of crying and wailing to get through, and didn't want the embarrassment of anyone else witnessing it.

==#==

Later that evening, Bannon found Alistair outside on the cliffs. There was an out-of-the-way goat trail that may have been part of a paved walk before most of it had fallen into the lake waters below. Around a bend, up some crooked stone steps, there was a broader area, flagstones intact. Alistair was leaning on the rail, looking out over Lake Calenhad and the shoreside docks. He looked pale, and Bannon feared for his health.

"Alistair, are you all right?"

"No," the knight said glumly, not looking up.

"What's wrong?"

"Well, it's... it's all real now, isn't it?" Alistair turned. "This is it. We're marching to Denerim, and I'm going-go-going to... to take..." His voice went dry. he returned to the rail, breathing in the lakeside air.

Bannon frowned. "So...," he ventured cautiously, "you're contemplating jumping?"

Alistair chuckled despite himself. "There's an option."

"Hey, come on." Bannon started to remind him that the Archdemon could still attack them on the road, but after actually seeing the beast... it didn't seem so funny anymore. "Look, you won't be alone. Arl Eamon won't let you do a thing without an army of advisors. All you have to do is smile at the people, look good, wave, and do whatever Eamon tells you to."

"A puppet king?"

"There's worse things," the elf said. "Look, you want Eamon to be king instead of you, right?"

"Yes!"

"Well, there you go. He will be. What is that you tell Leliana? 'Tell me what to put in the stew, and it will be just like you cooked it'?"

"Oh, yeah, you know that never really works," Alistair admitted.

"It's gonna be easy," Bannon assured him. "It's a time of war. You're a trained knight, and you know a lot about combat."

"Great, I get to send people to their deaths."

Bannon punched him on the arm, since he wasn't wearing armor. "Now you're just trying to feel bad. You're not sending anyone to war. We're all going together. These are darkspawn, this is a Blight, not some inter-arling skirmish. We all fight, or die. And the Wardens lead at the front of the army."

"Like Duncan," Alistair mused, looking down at the lake below.

Bannon nodded, thinking back to that fateful battle. "The king had no business being there; his people needed him. But you're a Warden, first and foremost, and there's no sense in leaving the Grey Wardens home when there's darkspawn to fight."

A little smile tugged at Alistair's lips. "And there will be plenty of chances to be heroically killed before I have to do any politicking. Thanks, Bannon." He smiled at the elf. "You always know how to make me feel better."

"Anytime! And if that didn't work..." Bannon rummaged in his bag. "I've got your royal regalia here to make you feel better!"

Alistair turned to look on in curiosity, and the elf pulled a brilliant purple cloth from his bag, whipping it into the air with a mighty flourish. Alistair gasped, and nearly jumped over the rail. "What the-!? _The Paisley Monstrosity!?_ How!? Did you!? You... Bu-Bu-Bu...!"

Bannon grinned. "You're speechless, I know."

"Th-That-That thing was destroyed!"

"No, Alistair... it is immortal! There's no stopping it! You _must_ wear it! Ooh, it will look lovely at your coronation!"

"Blbeebpleblkkukk!" the Templar exclaimed, or at least that's what it sounded like. He reached out and snatched the Paisley Monstrosity from Bannon's hand, then whipped it back and over the rail.

The Wardens leaned over to watch it plummet, but as it was cloth, it didn't exactly plummet so much as waft and drift slowly... Then a gust of wind picked it up and hurled it past a cliff outcropping and out of sight.

"Well," said Alistair with no small measure of relief. "That's the end of the Paisley Monstrosity!"

"A dynamic character with an ability to survive certain death, and a questionable death scene leaving no corpse? Yeah, we'll never see that thing again!" Bannon pushed back from the rail. "Come on. They're probably finished packing by now."

Alistair breathed deeply, then released it. "Yeah. Time to go."

==_X_==

* * *

_End Notes:_

"A dynamic character with an ability to survive certain death, and a questionable death scene leaving no corpse?..." 25,000 Bloodsong Points if you know where this is from. (And thank the Maker for searchable archives!)

archives. sluggy book. com | php? chapter=18#2000-05-27


	3. To Denerim

**To Denerim**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: no  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Part of this previously appeared on the Bioware boards, as one of the Zevran thread prompts. Yeah, that was apparently in 2012. See how much you remember! :X

* * *

**To Denerim**

==#==

The south Imperial Highway was still treacherous. Teagan would lead Redcliffe's rebuilt army on foot along it, and arrive a few days after Arl Eamon's coach and wagon train, which would be ferried across lake Calenhad to the Bannorn roads. Hopefully the Landsmeet wouldn't dissolve into battle, but a show of strength wouldn't hurt.

The Warden's group got to ride in relative style. They elected for Wynne and Leliana to ride in the coach. The rest of them, even Shale, could ride in a wagon. In less than three days, they came into Denerim from the West gate.

Bannon looked around the city anxiously. Not because Loghain could have more of his Guerrin knights, or Arl Howe's guards, hunting them, but because he wanted to see if there were any elves about. He was sure he saw one down a side alley, but why weren't there more?

Eamon's estate was near the market, between the Arl of Denerim's estate and the castle. The coach and wagons pulled in through the gate, circled in the paved entry yard. Everyone got out, and the arl went inside to order the household arrangements, and oversee the unpacking of everything.

Bannon trotted around the side of the grand house, through a narrow pathway to the side and back yard, where the kitchens and servants' entrance would be. He didn't find any elven servants, but there was an old groundskeeper by the side wall with some bricks and mortar. He was re-mortaring a section.

"Excuse me," Bannon started.

"What do you want, knife-ears?" the human growled, not looking up from his work.

Bannon had half a mind to tell him he was Warden Commander Tabris, but there was a good chance the shem wouldn't even believe him. Instead of wasting time arguing, he slipped back into his shem-kisser role. "Pardon me, ser, but I've been away-" _saving the kingdom and incidentally, your fat ass_ \- "is there any news on the Alienage quarantine?"

"Arl Howe sent in some healers."

Bannon's knees went weak with relief. Thank the Maker! "Is the gate open?" Maybe after this official meeting, he'd have time to check on his father and Shianni.

"Gate's closed. The Arl allows a few healthy elves out for work each day." The man grunted as he wedged a large brick into place.

Well, yes, can't do all your cleaning and chores by yourselves, shems. Need those elves to do it for you. "Can I send a message, ser?" he asked humbly. Or maybe he'd have to go into the Alienage much later - under the cover of darkness.

"No one goes in that filthy, stinking-" He turned to retrieve the trowel lying in the tray beside him, and must have noticed Bannon's swords, because he quickly changed what he was about to say. "Kitchen lad comes in a few times a week. Maybe he can take a message."

"What's his name?"

"Dunno." The caretaker shrugged, and went back to work before the mortar squeezing out from under the newly-laid brick oozed all the way down the wall.

"Thanks," Bannon said, not very sincerely. He continued on to the back yard, looking for the kitchens. Luckily, he found the kitchen boy there, fetching wood from the shed. "Hey!" Bannon called to him.

He jumped at Bannon's voice. "Uh? Y-Yes?" He was young, in a scruffy brown tunic with the sleeves rolled up. He'd probably grow into it in a few more years, if he tended it carefully and it didn't fall apart.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. What's your name."

"Zack, ser."

"You don't have to 'ser' me. I'm an elf, just like you."

"Y-You - They let you carry weapons." He goggled at the swords.

"Yeah, that's part of my job. Listen, I need to get a message to my family. Do you know the carpenter, Cyrian Tabris? or Shianni?" Bannon held his breath. If they were among the dead... he didn't know what he'd do.

"Oh yes, Shianni! She's a-" he gulped and swallowed whatever he was about to say.

Bannon let it pass, as it was probably something impolite. All that mattered was that she was alive. "Can you tell her that he cousin Bannon is here? I'll come to see them as soon as I can." He pulled a silver from his purse and held it out. "There's two more if you can return with a reply."

To his surprise, Zack backed up a step, eyes wide. "Y-You... You're _him!_" The boy gulped a breath. "You killed the-!" He slapped both hands over his mouth, and looked around in alarm in case any shems were in earshot.

"Yeah," Bannon said, unable to keep a proud smile from tugging at one corner of his mouth. "That's me."

The boy's eyes only got wider. "It'd be an honor, ser! I'll tell Shianni right away!"

"Good, but honor doesn't put food on the table." He held out the silver again.

"But..." Zack looked at it longingly. He wanted to do the right thing, but that was a lot of money.

"Take it. I have plenty."

"Yes, ser!" He made the silver disappear into his pocket almost faster than Bannon could.

"And what did I tell you about calling m-"

"Zack!" yelled a shrewish voice from the kitchen door. "What's taking so long? If you're lollygaggin' about again, it's another switching for you!"

"Coming!" Zack yelled back. He started grabbing pieces of cordwood.

"Here, let me help."

"N-No no no! Ser - uh - B-B-Bu- You can't!"

"Why not? You think it's too heavy?" Bannon hoisted an armload and headed for the kitchens before Zack could pick his jaw up off the ground.

The woman in the kitchen was rather scrawny for a cook, Bannon thought. She was more than surprised to see him. "Who are you? What are you doing with those weapons?" The scullery maids all looked up from their work in alarm. Some gasped, and one let out a squeak. They all backed away in fear.

"I'm Warden Tabris," Bannon said in a soothing tone. Wow, the shems must have a totally different version of the story about armed elves infiltrating the kitchens and slaughtering the nobility. Well, the same version, but an entirely different interpretation. "Where do you want your wood?" he asked in the same cheerful tone, glad Zevran wasn't' here for that line.

"Put it down and get out," the head cook insisted bravely. "Where's Zack?"

"Right here, mum!" Zack bustled in through the doorway with his own armload of wood. "Sorry!" He scooted past to the wood rack by the ovens.

Bannon said, "Sorry to hold him up. I had to talk to him a minute." He moved to unload his own stack of cordwood. Zack helped.

"I don't know what you're playing at, but you'd best leave before I summon Arl Eamon and his guards!"

Zack jumped up. "But he's Grey Warden Bannon Tabris!"

"Honestly, Zack, you'll believe anything!"

"But I saw him! When the guards came-"

"It's all right, Zack," Bannon interrupted before he went on about his near-arrest. "She's right to be cautious."

"Warden!" Zevran's voice came in from the yard. A moment later, the elf's silhouette appeared in the doorway, his stance relaxed, yet coiled in preparation of a swift strike, his sword hilts prominent over his shoulders. "Ah, there you are. Eamon wants to see you and Alistair about your presentation at the castle."

Bannon straightened and smiled, without a trace of a smirk, at the cook. "Duty calls." He dusted his hands and followed Zevran out.

"What were you doing in there?" the Antivan asked in a low voice.

"Oh, you know me, delivering some wood to some young maids."

Zevran snorted. "They looked terrified."

"Well, my wood is just that fearsome," Bannon retorted.

Zevran snorted again.

"Oh, is that a challenge?"

Now Zevran snickered. "We shall see," he said with a big eager grin.

==#==

Bannon wasn't surprised Zevran had lied about Eamon trying to talk with him and Alistair. The arl was still busy directing the servants. There was time before they had to make an appearance at the castle.

"Alistair," said Bannon. "Let's go to the armorer."

"But, I just got new armor." Eamon insisted he wear it, because when they went to the castle, Alistair had to look impressive.

"Yeah, now I can't be looking all shabby next to you," the elf griped. "We've got all that drakeskin we can trade in."

"Oh yeah, good idea."

"Go grab the skins." Bannon turned to the others. "Sten, you need any armor?"

"I require a helmet, but your country has none that fit me."

"Oh. Yeah, that might be a problem." How _do_ you put a helmet on a qunari?

"I will visit the market with Shale. May I have my stipend?"

"You will?" Bannon blinked. "All right, sure. Try not to have too much fun, though," he warned, imagining what a qunari and a golem would do in a marketplace. "Oh, and there's a sweet shop over on the north side. You have to go up the street a little way."

"Sweet shop?"

"Like a bakery, but less flour. More sugar."

"Thank you." The giant accepted his coins, then went off into the market with Shale and Wynne. People in the street cleared the area around them. Well, they'd be easy enough to find, if needed.

Bannon handed out allowances to Leliana and Morrigan. "Zevran! You coming to the armorer's?"

"_Si!_"

"Hey, Oghren!" Bannon went over to the cart. "Want to go-?"

"KRSHHHHnnnnnnnKKKKKzzzzz..."

"Right, then." Bannon looked over at Alistair, who was frowning into the cart. "Didn't you find the drakeskins yet?

The knight pointed. "He's sleeping on them."

Bannon got up on tiptoe to peer down into the cart. Sure enough, there was a bundle of drakeskins under Oghren's head. "Well, grab them."

"Um..." Alistair reached in and grabbed the bundle. He gave a tentative tug. The dwarf didn't budge. Alistair yanked harder and got the package loose. The loud KLUNK of Oghren's head hitting the wagon bottom didn't interrupt the snoring.

"Why did we bring this guy again?" Bannon griped.

Alistair shrugged and tucked the bundle under his arm. "Do you know where the armorer's is?"

"Yeah, this way."

==#==

Zevran suddenly clutched Bannon's arm in a deathgrip, drawing in a hiss of breath.

"What? What is it?" the Denerim elf looked around in alarm. Were there Crows lurking in the crowd? Had Howe's guards spotted them? Some of Loghain's knights? He didn't see anything out of the ordinary in the crowded market. Not even a mime.

"Black Leather Armor," Zevran said, capitalizing it with religious fervor. He squeezed Bannon's arm even harder and pushed him towards the armorer's shop. That looked like where they were supposed to be headed. And yes, Bannon saw it now, between polished plate suits, a stand with leather armor, very black. "I must have it," Zevran insisted. "Get it for me!"

"It's probably for a shem," Bannon protested. His arm was going numb.

"It's _Leather,_" the Antivan breathed. "And it's Black." He drew in a tight breath, making a faint squeaking noise, and his entire body quivered violently.

Bannon was terrified that the assassin had just had what was called and 'orgasmic experience' right there in the middle of the crowded market street. And on his arm. He tried to pry Zevran off. "Look, fine! If you want me to get it for you, you have to do two things..."

"What?"

"First, let go of my arm!" Zevran dropped Bannon's arm and trotted closer to the armorer's window. Bannon followed, trying to keep his voice down. "And second, you have to pretend you're not that interested in it."

Zevran's face was turned up, a beatific expression of worship plastered clearly across it as he gazed at the window display. "It has polished steel studs. Ohhhh, studs." He made that scary squeeing noise and quivered again.

Right, this was a lost cause. "All right, stay out here while I-"

"No! No, I must go inside, I must ask how much such a fabulous piece of craftsmanship is. I- I must try it on! I want to feel its-"

Bannon cut him off before he could start talking about how much he wanted to feel up the leather. "Absolutely not! If they see how much you want it, the price is going to double - no, triple," he amended, noting that Zevran was almost drooling. "And if it's too much anyway, we're going to have to not be suspects when it goes missing. Now stay here and moon over it while I go ask rationally."

==#==

"What's with Zevran?" Alistair asked as he accompanied Bannon into the armorer's shop.

"Don't ask."

They went up to the counter. "Welcome to Wade's Armory," the laconical man behind the desk said. "I'm Herren; how may I help you?"

"We're shopping around for some armor," Bannon said, leaning casually on the counter. "How much is the black leather, there in the window?"

"That's not for sale!" a voice cried from the back room.

Herren put his face in his hand. "Wade," he complained tiredly, "this is an armor shop. Of course the armor is for sale."

"That's a showpiece!" The owner of the voice appeared in the doorway. He had bushy black muttonchops and a long moustache.

"Hey," said Bannon; "if it's just for show..." He waved a hand carelessly as if he couldn't be interested.

This caused the bristly armorer to, well, bristle. "Here now, every one of my suits of armor is a work of art and completely practical in every way!"

"Must be hard to get the blood off the dyed leather."

"It's dyed and coated with a lustrous seal that makes it easier to clean."

"Hmm." Bannon frowned thoughtfully. Actually, that sounded good. "But will it fit an elf?"

Wade came forward and looked him up and down. "Not unless the elf in question is built like this handsome devil." He turned to Alistair. "You'd look absolutely devastating in black leather."

"I don't wear leather," the Templar replied.

"Oh?" The man's eyes raked him head to toe. "A cotton man all the way down, are you?"

Alistair just looked blank. The part of Bannon's mind that had been corrupted by prolonged exposure to Zevran had an idea what Wade might be talking about. Bannon shook it off. "Uhm, look, we were told you specialized in working exotic materials. We have some drakeskin here..."

"Drakeskin! From an actual dragon?"

"Well," Bannon said, motioning for Alistair to open the parcel of rolled hide; "from drakes. Not the big flying dragons."

"Oh!" Wade's eyes flew wide as he saw the skins. Judging from his reaction, he wouldn't have even noticed Zevran's restrained drooling. "Oh, it's magnificent! Imagine, Herrin, what I could do with this! This is incredible! Take the black armor, it's a gift for letting me work with such outstanding materials."

The laconic man jumped up. "Now... all right, Wade; I'm sure that's very nice." He fixed Bannon and Alistair with a look. "Please note that my partner only crafts the armor, he is in no way responsible for setting the prices on the work. He is especially -" and here, Herrin shot his partner a look - "not permitted to give anything away."

"I already said we're not interested in that armor," Bannon said.

"We could cut it down to size," Herrin offered. "For a nominal fee."

Wade screamed as if Herrin had suggested slicing up his baby. "We are not cutting my work of art!"

"How nominal?"

"Oh, haggle later," Wade snapped. "What kind of armor would you want from this drakeskin? Do you want it dyed black?"

Black, with polished steel studs. Bannon imagined how such armor would look on him. Yes, very dangerous. Very sexy. Zevran would practically die from envy! No, wait... Bannon frowned to himself. Zevran would just murder him and take the armor. That was more likely. "Ah, no. We should leave it with its natural luster. But can you put that coating on it?"

"Ah, yes! That will make it shine brilliantly! The scales will sparkle!"

Bannon bit his lip. How to tell this man he would rather fade into the shadows, not glitter, without admitting to being a thief? "Well, now I don't want to attract attention on the battlefield," he hedged.

"How about making it grey?" Alistair suggested.

"Grey? Eugh!" Wade made a face. "What a most insipid and uninspiring lack of colour!" He looked at Alistair as if wondering what sort of bug had crawled into his shop.

"Well, we are Grey Wardens."

And now he looked as if he'd swallowed said bug. "You're Grey Wardens? Magnificent! Hundreds of people will see this armor! It is completely on the house!"

"Wade!" Herrin cut in. "Please recall what I said about his ability to set prices."

"But, Grey Wardens! You can't buy that kind of publicity!"

Despite the prospect of free armor, Bannon was beginning to sympathize with Herrin. "How about a sort of charcoal grey?" he said to placate Wade. "Maybe a sedate matte finish? Less glitzy and more professional-looking. Very serious. The Grey Wardens are very serious."

Wade began nodding. "Yes, yes, I see it now. Oh, with a white griffon emblazoned on the front?"

"Not too big," Bannon said. "White and bloodstains... not a good combination. Perhaps on the arm?"

"On the pauldrons," Alistair added. This bit of fashion advice apparently put him back on Wade's good side.

"Done and done!" Wade gathered up the hides and bustled into the back room. "You can haggle now all you want!"

"We would appreciate a down payment before starting the work," Herrin said tiredly. "Well, at least one of us would like to eat."

==#==

Bannon paid the man and left them to the work. The instant he set foot outside the shop, Zevran nearly pounced on him. "Well? Where is my armor? I do not see a package under your arm! Where is my black leather?"

"He's working on it," Bannon lied, to rescue his arm before Zevran cut off the circulation again. "You'll just have to be patient." The assassin growled, but did let go of his arm. "What do you want black armor for, anyway?"

"What? So I can walk down the street, and everyone will say, 'Look at that sexy elf! Look how sleek, see how dangerous!' I will be the envy of men, the desire of women. Or vice versa!"

"Yeah, but you're an assassin. You can't be moving stealthily if everyone in town is staring at you."

"Bah!" Zevran scoffed. "Antivan Crows are so widely feared, no one would dare to interfere with our work. We have no need for stealth. Our marks die of fright as soon as they lay eyes on us!"

The snickering that came from Alistair was enough argument for that statement.

"Well," Zevran hedged, deflated. "In civilized countries."

"The armor you have suits you," Bannon pointed out. "It's broken in, it's comfortable, it lets you fade in with rock or dirt. It's very serviceable, sturdy."

"It is common! Rock? Pah! Dirt?" Zevran narrowed his amber eyes at Bannon. "You didn't get it, did you?"

"Well..."

"No, no no no; I see what is going on here. You failed."

"I did not!"

"Yes," Zevran said, drawing out the word. "Yes, you ser, are a failure! Some 'Master Thief' you turned out to be!"

"I am not!" Bannon shot back hotly. "And I never said I was a Master Thief!" Luckily, they had made their way into the courtyard of Arl Eamon's estate, where there weren't any city guards to hear this conversation.

"Yes you did."

"I did not!"

"So, you are not, then?"

"Not what?"

"A Master Thief?"

"I didn't say that."

"You are either saying you are or that you are not. Which is it?"

Bannon growled. "Master Thieves don't go around saying they're Master Thieves. Other people say it!"

"Ohhhhh, now I understand." Zevran rolled his eyes. "Well, you will not hear me saying it, especially since you utterly failed to procure my black leather armor."

"It wouldn't fit you, anyway! Besides," Bannon tried one last desperate shot; "it wouldn't match your Antivan leather boots."

Zevran gasped and stopped dead. He looked down at his feet. His whole body sagged slowly as he realized the truth. As beautiful and as dark as the leather was, it would pale in comparison to true black. And give up his Antivan leather boots to wear... Ferelden boots? It was a sadist's choice!

Bannon came back and put his arm around Zevran's shoulders to console him. "Come on, you know I'm always looking out for you. You can't strut around sexily while your feet are all pinched and sore."

"Well..."

"And blistered. Blisters are not sexy, my friend!"

"I suppose."

Bannon patted him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit!" Another disaster averted. But Zevran looked so dejected. Bannon figured it wouldn't hurt to ask Wade if he had any Antivan leather. Or maybe to dye Zevran's boots black. He wondered how much a set of black leathers in elven size would actually cost.

Maker's Breath, what was he thinking!? He wasn't made of money!

==_X_==


	4. Official Meeting

**Official Meeting**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: no  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

OMG I suck at titles. though... i could have used bannon's quote of 'let's get this landsmeet started'! :X

* * *

**Official Meeting**

==#==

"Where are the others?" Eamon fretted. "We want to make a strong showing when we meet Loghain."

"They'll be here," Bannon reassured him. Sten, Shale, and Wynne had returned shortly after the boys. As for Leliana... she was probably a lost cause, but if she missed the meeting it was no huge loss. How scary would a Chantry sister look, anyway? But Morrigan might hurry her along. Or at least return without the bard.

Bannon went to find Zevran again. The assassin was annoying Wynne.

"I was wondering what it feels like to be possessed by a spirit."

Wynne eyed the Antivan suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?"

"I am curious. Should I not get to know my companions better? Especially if they have such unique experiences." Zevran frowned. "Is it wrong to get to know people?"

"No, of course it isn't." Wynne thought a moment. "It isn't like being possessed by a demon."

"Have you been possessed by a demon, my dear Wynne?"

"No, I have not. But I have seen such things. Demons take you, they control you. Having a spirit is quite different. It's hard to describe. It is comforting. I... I feel safe. Loved."

Zevran nodded, leaning closer attentively. "Comforted, loved... _si_."

"Yes, it's like being held close, cradled. Like a warm, loving hug."

Bannon didn't mean to eavesdrop on their conversation, but he didn't want to interrupt. His own mind went back, far into his past, to memories of his mother when he was just a little toddler. His mother's warm embrace, cradling him close, shutting out the world and its harshness. He could hear her voice. _And on this day, the Maker gave _me _a gift._

_What gift, Mamma?_

_The very special gift of my very own beautiful baby boy._

He heard his own sweet, childlike laugh.

Back in the courtyard, Zevran was musing, "A spirit hug?"

"It's much more than that." Wynne focused within herself, searching for words. "It is a bond so complete, I cannot extricate myself, nor do I wish to." Her eyes snapped to the assassin. "Wait... why do you have that look on your face?"

"Hmm?" Zevran's eyes were half lidded. "I am merely trying to imagine such a feeling. Please, continue."

"Well, there is a strong presence, deep within me. There's a warmth, spreading out from the center of my being, infusing me with-"

"Ooooh, yesss," the Antivan crooned.

"Andraste's Grace!" Wynne snapped, stepping back. "What are you thinking about, now? No! I don't want to know! I feel dirty."

"But Wynne," Zevran whined. "Do not leave me alone. I may cry. May I lay my head on your bosom and cry?"

"You can cry well away from my bosom!"

"But it is such a marvelous bosom. I know women half your age who have not held up so well. Is it a magical bosom?"

"Zevran!" she snapped. "We are not talking about my bosom! Now get away from me."

He sighed with an exaggerated slump, and turned away. He perked up when he spied Bannon. "Aha! A man who appreciates my talents, my curiosity, my penetrating insights-"

"Did you forget you insulted me and my skills just five minutes ago?"

"Pah! No, it seems like seven years. You hold a grudge this long?"

Bannon just shook his head, pushing away thoughts of his family, of his past. "Nevermind. Let's just get this Landsmeet started."

==#==

Protocol required Eamon to register his presence at the Landsmeet along with all the other Arls and Banns. This meant a face-to-face meeting with the Queen, or more likely, the Regent. Rats gnawed at Alistair's stomach as he tried to imagine seeing Loghain, and having a little chat instead of attacking him on a proper battlefield. "Politics make me lose my lunch," he confided in Bannon as his companion helped him with some last minute checks and adjustments to his armor.

"You'll be fine," the irrepressible elf told him. "If you barf, aim for his face."

Alistair actually laughed. This was doable, as long as Bannon stayed by his side. And Arl Eamon. Teagan would have been good, too, but the more, the merrier. The Warden's company would be there, to be diplomatic (Leliana), shrewd (Wynne), diplomatic and shrewd (Bannon), imposing (Sten and Shale), and... well, Zevran was annoying. Oghren had elected to remain passed out in the wagon, and Morrigan had disappeared somewhere, after a little talk with Bannon.

"Where's Morrigan?" Alistair asked him in genuine curiosity.

"Oh, she's about." Bannon glanced up at the sky, scanning around.

Oh-ho, a bird spy. Good idea. "You know, if this king thing goes through, I'm totally making you my chief advisor."

"And then dump all the work on me?"

"You don't want to do it?" Alistair asked in surprise.

The elf grinned. "I'd love nothing more."

They headed inside.

==#==

Someone thought it would be fun to make them cool their heels waiting interminably. Bannon considered using the time to steal anything of value in the hall. Idle hands and all that. Still... he probably couldn't stuff many of those shields and halberds under his tunic.

Eamon demanded the guards go fetch someone, after waiting long enough to prove he could handle these petty games, but not so long that he looked weak.

Then, an insufferable several minutes later, the doors opened and six guards accompanied a thin older warrior who looked the polar opposite of his livery's bear insignia. Small, thin, and that nose was definitely rat-like. Bannon didn't need Zevran's muttered 'That's Howe' to recognize him. And instantly hate him. That was the shem who had come in to replace Vaughn, the one who had called down a purge on his home, then locked his people inside the Alienage to let the plague run rampant. Sure, now he had called in healers, the better to get his servants back to work.

"Eamon," the arl greeted them neutrally.

"Howe."

Howe's eyes narrowed past Eamon and Alistair to the Grey Wardens' company. One brow may have twitched at the golem, but his eyes definitely narrowed at the elves. "You come here with the likes of these... riffraff?"

"These are the Grey Wardens," Eamon stated.

"_That_ is an Antivan Crow. Were you planning on assassinating anyone?"

Zevran, accent breathy, said, "Do I know you? Ah, weren't you the one hiring the Crows to kill your country's Grey Wardens? Say it a little louder - I don't think the entire Landsmeet heard you."

Howe glared daggers at him, while Bannon tried not to smirk. The arl singled him out next. "And aren't you the one who murdered the Bann? Then ran off to escape justice?"

"Do you have any witnesses to prove these allegations?"

"Not after the Purge, no."

Bannon seethed. _My next murder is going to be an arl_.

"Fortunately, your accomplice didn't escape." Howe smirked.

Soris? Bannon's stomach dropped. What had he done to Soris? He wanted to rip the answers straight out of Howe's throat, but restrained himself.

Alistair rescued him. "He's a Grey Warden."

"That gives him the right to commit crimes?"

Eamon stepped in with, "I wouldn't talk about murders and assassinations if I were you. Everyone knows what happened at Highever."

"You mean how Bryce Cousland attacked my men while I was away?"

"No, the real story. As well as the real story of the poisoner you sent to my court."

From the balcony above came Loghain's strident voice. "Eamon. It's about time you showed up. Calling for a Landsmeet while the darkspawn claw at our doors. We should be fighting, not debating."

Alistair said, "Maybe if you had done your job at Ostagar instead of running away and leaving your king and the Grey Wardens to die, we _would_ be fighting, and even winning now."

"Alistair," was all Loghain said, with a tinge of regret? Bannon had forgotten how intimidating the General was. Well. Compare him to an Archdemon. There, not so big and scary, is he?

"That's right," Alistair growled back. "Still alive. Still King Maric's son."

Eamon added, "Step down now, Loghain. We can end this pointless warring amongst ourselves and combat the Blight, if that's what is most important to you."

By the Maker, it looked as if Loghain was actually thinking it over! It couldn't be this easy, could it? If it was, who would trust it?

Then Howe snidely commented, "Isn't it against the tenets of the Grey Wardens to get involved in politics? I do think being king qualifies, doesn't it?"

_Shit!_ This Howe guy needed to die, and much faster!

Loghain nodded solemnly. "Your status as Grey Warden precludes you from ruling."

Alistair might have danced a jig at that, but no. Not if it meant Loghain would win. Eamon said, "The Landsmeet will decide."

"Yes, it will."

"Very well, then."

Loghain withdrew without any ceremony. Howe waved them away dismissively like a stuck up shem noble who needed his arm ripped off and shoved up his ass.

Eamon turned and ushered them out. "Calm down, everyone," he said quietly as they passed through the doors to the entry hall. "We're still in enemy territory."

Zevran sidled up to Bannon anyway. "Tell me you want me to kill him for you, _mi patrone_."

"Oh, no. I'm going to do it."

"Not if I get there first," the assassin grumbled.

Outside, the group loosened up a little. Eamon told them, "We have a few days before the vote is called. We need to identify our allies, measure their number against Loghain's supporters, then court those who are undecided, persuade them to our side."

"Oh Maker, my head!" Alistair complained. "Can we have no politicking for just five minutes?"

"Alistair, this is important."

Bannon said, "You and Leliana can do the analysis, ser. Then we can act."

Eamon frowned. "He has to learn."

"But I'll just slow you down! You said we don't have much time."

Leliana said, "It is a good idea for us to work on this swiftly, then we can develop a strategy we can all implement."

The arl slowly nodded. "Very well. Alistair, be careful. We know Howe and Loghain aren't above having their enemies killed."

"I will."

"We'll keep an eye on him," Bannon promised.

==#==

"Bannon..." Zevran motioned for the other elf to join him in a quieter corner of the courtyard.

Bannon frowned. It was rather unusual for Zevran to call him by name. And the Antivan's face was far too serious. "What is it?"

"I have been thinking. I have told you, if I am to escape the Crows, what better way than to join the bastards who are even tougher than they are, _si?_"

"Yeah...?" Bannon crossed his arms, unsure where this was going.

Zevran took a breath and straightened. "I would like to join the Grey Wardens."

"What, you mean... officially?"

"_Si._"

Bannon chewed his lip. He couldn't allow Zevran to go through the Joining. It could kill him. "No," he blurted.

"No?" The assassin scowled. "And why not?"

"It's just... Even if Alistair and I knew how to perform the Joining - which we don't - we can't. Because we don't have the ingredients."

"Ingredients?" Zevran shook his head in confusion. "You can't just... hire me on?"

"No, it's not that simple. There's a whole... secret ceremony. And it involves drinking a vile concoction." He made a face. "You wouldn't want to do it."

"Pah," the assassin scoffed. "As if I am afraid of a little initiation hazing."

"Why do you even want to be a Warden, anyway? It's a terrible job, trust me."

Zevran shrugged, paced away a little, kicked lightly at the base of the stone wall. "Just I... did not think it through. I should not have gone to the meeting."

"Are you kidding? That was brilliant." Bannon smirked. "'I don't think the entire Landsmeet heard you.'"

Zevran did not pick up on his jocularity. "Howe knows I am a Crow, and he knows now that I have not only failed my mission, but refused to finish it. He will contact the Crows. It won't be long before they know my treason, and know where I am." He swallowed.

Now this was serious. Sure, the Crows could have sent out another team of assassins after them, but those assassins would have had to find them. They were sitting ducks here. "All right," Bannon said. "But it will take some time for him to get a message out, and for them to send someone, right? We'll just have to be careful."

"If they are not already here." Zevran heaved a sigh, then picked his spirit up by the bootstraps. "Well, we are royally tough to kill."

"They don't stand a chance," Bannon asserted.

Zevran gave him a jaunty chuckle, but it did nothing to ease the tension around his eyes.

==_X_==

* * *

_End notes:_

"Did you forget you insulted me and my skills just five minutes ago?"  
"Pah! No, it seems like seven years. You hold a grudge this long?"

_-it's tough when you need to assemble a chapter today with a scene you wrote THAT long ago! omg, continuity... don't fail me now!_


	5. Three's Company

**Three's Company**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: no  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Dear S.D.: see, I promised it would happen! (You probably don't remember.) Don't get all excited, though ;D

Now let's see how good my writing was 7 years ago... And after all this time, NO, I still don't have a better title than this. Oh well. It's grown on me, I guess.

* * *

**Three's Company**

==#==

"Wynne," Bannon said softly. She turned and he touched her elbow, drawing her aside so they could speak, alone. She gave him an open curious look. "Listen," he said, "I want to apologize for Zevran's behavior earlier."

Her brows went up. "You're apologizing for him? Well, I appreciate the sentiment, Bannon, but you're not responsible for his behavior. Shouldn't he be making his own apologies?" She didn't like her spiritual bond to be cheapened into something tawdry, and her voice turned a bit sharp. "Though reprehensible as he is, I wouldn't expect it."

Bannon grimaced. "It's just... I don't think he's ever known anything like that. I was hoping you could get through to him." He slumped, head down, and turned to go.

"Bannon, wait." He turned back to her, and she searched his face. He had such a sad, thoughtful mein. He didn't often show this side of himself, Wynne realized. He wore his flippancy like a mask - like armor to shield himself from harm. As the meaning of his words and their implications unfolded within her mind, she began to realize that Zevran must be the same way. There was more to these elves - so much more - than they ever revealed. Wynne's expression softened. "I just wanted to tell you: I was wrong before, about your relationship with Zevran. I thought..."

"That we were having wild, kinky sex and ignoring our duties while the world went to hell?" Bannon supplied drolly. A touch of heat rose in Wynne's cheeks. She stammered a bit, but he didn't let her flounder for long. More gently he said, "No, I can see how you might get that idea."

"Well," she said, taking a breath, "in all the wisdom of hindsight, I can see Zevran was right. Life for a Grey Warden is dangerous and short. If you don't take time for personal pleasures, when will you ever know happiness?"

"Then our lives would be dangerous, short, _and_ miserable."

Wynne chuckled softly, but she studied the elf's face. "I've watched the both of you as your bond has grown stronger and deeper. And I think both of you have benefited from it. When he looks at you, his whole demeanor changes. His eyes show a warmth they don't usually have. He really loves you."

"You think so?" Bannon asked.

Wynne blinked in shock. Her mouth dropped open slightly. "You mean you don't _know?_"

Bannon looked aside, tipping his head and his hands in a helpless shrug.

"Doesn't he tell you?" Wynne insisted. To her surprise, he only shook his head. "Well, haven't you told him how you feel?"

"I can't."

Oh, _elves!_ Sometimes Wynne wanted to strangle them. "Well what is so difficult about telling the one you love how you feel? Why would you deny your own emotions?"

"It's not that," he said quickly. He turned and paced off a few steps. "It's just... it's been so difficult to get him to open up to me this far. I think he loves me, and I think he knows I love him..." He chewed doubtfully on the inside of his cheek.

Wynne gave a silent sigh. "Maybe he's just waiting for you to take the first step," she suggested.

Bannon faced her. "I'm afraid if I push too hard, too soon, he'll just retreat again, and I'll lose him." He shook his head. "He's not ready, Wynne."

"All right," she said gently. "You know him best."

Some tension drained from his frame. "Thanks, Wynne," he said earnestly, touching her arms in the briefest shadow of an embrace. Then he turned and hurried off.

==#==

While the estate was large, it was by no means lavish. It was not designed to hold so many overnight guests at once. The servants were scrambling to make suitable arrangements. Alistair went to his room for spare bedding. Bannon and Zevran followed, checking the place out.

"This is your room?" asked Bannon.

"Well, it's a guest room that I use when I'm here. I mean, I'm not really family."

Zevran said, "Your bed is huge. The three of us could fit in it."

Alistair turned from the linen closet, arms full of bedding and pillows. "Oh, you are _not_ serious!"

"Why not?" Bannon asked mildly.

Alistair looked at him, then at Zevran, then back. Both had expressions of innocent query on their faces. "Gee," Alistair said, "there are just _so_ many reasons, I can't pick only one."

"Really," Bannon told him, "in the Alienage, a whole family could sleep in a bed this size."

"You're not thinking anything _lewd_, are you, Alistair?" Zevran added with a sly grin.

"Of course not!"

"All right then. You should sleep in the middle, being the largest. Less likely for you to fall out."

"B-Bu-Bu-!" he stammered.

Bannon said reasonably, "I suppose Sten could fit in it, if he stretched corner to corner, but then that would leave all three of us to sleep on the floor."

"Seems a waste of space, that," Zevran agreed.

"All right, all right!" Alistair dumped a load of pillows on Zevran, and comforters on Bannon. "But just no... no..." He shook a finger at them. "No hanky-panky in my bed!"

Zevran rolled his eyes and tsked. Bannon said, "Honestly, Alistair! Where's your mind?" They carried the bedding out.

"Right where Zevran put it!" he yelled after them. "I can't believe I agreed to this."

==#==

The bed did fit all three of them. The elves didn't take up that much room, really. Besides, how much trouble could they get into, with Alistair separating them?

In the middle of the night, Bannon started moaning in his sleep. Alistair, sleeping only fitfully, rolled onto his side and put an arm over his head. Zevran sat up and jabbed the human with a forefinger. "Alistair!" He only got a tired groan in response. Zevran poked him again, this time in the solar plexus. "Get up. Let me comfort him."

Alistair sat up, clutching his stomach. "Owww," he complained. Bannon started thrashing.

"Move." Zevran pushed at the human ineffectually. Giving up, he just clambered around him. "Get out of the way."

Alistair half slid, half rolled to the edge of the bed, dragging the covers with him like a trawler with its net.

Zevran slipped next to Bannon and put a hand on his forehead. "Shh," he said, stroking Bannon's hair. "It's okay. Shh... it's all right." The Grey Warden quieted, whimpering softly.

Alistair looked over at them, a sneer of disgust curling his lip. But then he opened his eyes and really looked. Zevran's gaze was tender as he comforted his lover with gentle words. Bannon's face relaxed, horror and pain draining away. Mutely, Alistair untangled most of the bedding and handed it to Zevran.

The elf took it and drew it over himself and his companion as he snuggled down beside him.

Alistair lay back and closed his eyes.

"What is it the Wardens dream about?" Zevran whispered.

"It's the Archdemon," the Templar answered quietly. "It's calling to the Horde, guiding it. We get echoes of that. When we dream."

"That sounds rather useful," the pragmatic elf replied. "To know what your enemy is plotting."

"Well, it's not in so many words," Alistair told him. "It's... It's like singing. At first, it sounds like the most beautiful song, and you want to hear more of it. But as it draws you in, you realize... you can feel the Taint. It's like biting a fruit and only realizing it's rotten after you swallowed half of it. You feel the song - the Taint - inside you and it... it tries to make you do terrible things." The human trailed off uneasily.

"Yes, that sounds..." Zevran also trailed off. "Like quite the nightmare," he finished absently.

Alistair rolled on his side and tried to go back to sleep.

==#==

Zevran dreamt of a large ox. He tried to pat it on the nose, but the thing just opened its maw and swallowed his hand. He was surprised, but oddly unconcerned. The ox chewed placidly until it had devoured his arm up to his shoulder. Then it gave a wet snort right in his face.

He blinked awake, trying to get his bearings. He couldn't feel his right arm; it had fallen asleep because Alistair was lying on it, with his head pillowed on Zevran's shoulder. The human gave another snort, snoring with his mouth slack, drooling slightly.

"Ugh," Zevran said to himself. Somehow, Alistair drooling over him wasn't as sexy as he had imagined. "I suppose if you wake up now, this is all somehow my fault," he muttered, wondering how he was going to rescue his arm.

He shifted carefully, and the movement caused pins and needles to shoot up his arm. He winced and wriggled some more.

"Nurg," said Alistair.

"Get off, you big ox," Zevran hissed. He pushed at the human's shoulder, mentally cursing how heavy humans could be. With some more insistent shoving, he finally got Alistair to roll over, and freed his arm.

The entire length of it was lancing with pain as circulation was restored. Since it was already getting light out, Zevran wriggled out of the bed at the foot of it, leaving the two Wardens still fast asleep.

He trudged to the dining hall, rubbing his arm. Gratefully, he accepted a cup of coffee from a servant and sat on a chair next to Wynne, who was also an early riser. "Sleeping with two Grey Wardens is not conducive to a good night's rest," he grumbled at her.

Wynne rolled her eyes and sipped her own coffee. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a remark," she told him.

"What?" he protested innocently. "I'm sure you've noticed we are a bit short on sleeping space. Where are you, Leliana, and Morrigan sleeping?"

"We have cots in one of the guest rooms," she said. "_Not_ that it's any of your business."

"No, no. Well, Sten cannot fit into any bed, and Oghren can fit in a chair. But Alistair has a really huge bed that all three of us can fit in." Zevran blew on his coffee to cool it a bit. "But those nightmares they suffer." He shook his head. "I think I may change my mind about joining the Grey Wardens."

Wynne blinked in surprise and turned to look at him. "You wanted to join the Wardens?"

"_Si!_ Any why not? Aren't we doing all the same work, fightin the darkspawn, taking all the same risks? But all without the status and privileges of being Grey Warden."

"Status and privileges?" Wynne sputtered. "That isn't what being a Grey Warden is about! What about the responsibility?"

"What about it?"

"Being a Grey Warden means you pledge to give up your life in defense of all beings."

"Explain to me the practical difference between that and what I am doing now," the assassin countered.

Wynne opened and closed her mouth a few times. "Are you really willing to sacrifice your own life - to die - in defense of the people of Ferelden?"

"Mm, not really, no," Zevran confessed. "But I am pledged to serve Bannon. Where he goes, I go. And if he is killed... well, it will only be over my dead body," he asserted.

Wynne sighed. "That's still not quite the same."

"Bannon turned me down, though, when I offered." Zevran shrugged. He sipped his coffee a while, then asked, "Would you? Join the Grey Wardens, I mean."

Wynne frowned in thought. "No," she said finally. "I wouldn't mind giving my life fighting the Blight, but..." She sighed. "Afterward, I'd really like my life to be my own again."

"You don't think the Grey Wardens' job will be done with, after the Blight is over?" He frowned. He and Bannon didn't talk much about the future, but he was pretty sure Bannon wanted to stay together.

"Zevran," said Wynne, "it's never as easy as 'happily ever after.' This isn't a story, you know."

The elf sighed. "Yes, I know."

==#==

Bannon trudged into the washroom, bleary-eyed. Alistair was just finishing with his shaving. The elf had to stare at the bizarre process. Well, it was better than the alternative.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Alistair said. "Kinda personal, maybe?"

"What is it?"

"I've been wondering... about this two men thing? And I _think_ I understand how it works..." Alistair hesitated, but Bannon didn't give him any help, nor stop him. "It just seems... it would be entirely uncomfortable."

"Well, it's not for everyone."

"I guess not. But... I mean... doesn't that hurt?"

"No, Alistair, it doesn't hurt." Bannon washed his hands and poked around to find his tooth-cleaning brush. "Well. A little, at first," he admitted. "Look, it's the same thing with a woman."

"It is?"

"If you do it badly, or don't pay enough attention to her needs, then yes, you can hurt her. Especially if she's a virgin. But if you do it properly, it's very good." Bannon paused in thought. "Zevran is really very... very good."

"Uhrmmm. Oh." Alistair pursed his lips. "I still don't get it."

"Well, if you try it, you might."

"Gah!"

"Or," Bannon stressed, "it's not for you. So don't."

"I didn't mean anything by asking," the human said apologetically. "I was just curious, is all."

Bannon unclenched his grip. "It's all right." He didn't want to think about that now. Didn't he have enough worries? Politics, the Landsmeet vote, Crows trying to assassinate them, Loghain trying to assassinate them, the whole Blight thing, the Archdemon eating them and destroying the world. Compared to that, worrying what people thought about him and Zevran seemed trivial.

Then he thought about telling his family and almost choked on his tooth-brush.

==_X_==


	6. Goldana

**Goldana**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: no  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

This ended up pretty short. Next bit is gonna be longer.

* * *

**Goldana**

==#==

They'd crept out early after breakfast, Alistair and Bannon. Alistair figured there'd be fewer assassins at that hour, and it seemed a good bet. The streets were quiet, the light subdued.

At the market square, things were busier. Someone was driving a flock of geese towards the butcher, others were sweeping their stalls or unrolling their awnings. Some dwarf was arguing with a sharp-nosed woman. Apparently, he was losing.

"You know, they say Denerim Market is the biggest in the land; you can get anything here." Alistair glanced at Bannon. "I got pickpocketed once."

The elf looked at him.

"I see that look."

"What look?"

"Don't even think about it."

"About what?"

Alistair stopped and faced him. "That look that says 'It would be totally funny if I pickpocketed him now, just after he mentioned getting pickpocketed here.'"

Bannon chuckled. "I wouldn't do that."

"What? Not prank me?" They continued on. "The guy who tied the Paisley Monstrosity to my shield?"

"And you didn't notice for - how long?" Bannon grinned, then turned serious. "But that wasn't me. That was Zevran."

"Uh huh. You know, for the sake of our friendship, and the Grey Wardens... and, you know, the fate of the entire world - I'm going to pretend I believe you."

"That's - uh, nice."

"But don't think, after all this is over, I won't get you back for that." Alistair stopped at one of the less-busy-looking merchants. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Goldana? The laundress?"

The man waved in a vague easterly direction. "Wright Street. Across from the cobbler."

"Um, thanks." Alistair looked at his companion. "You know-? What's that?"

Bannon was frowning at a piece of folded paper. "Oh, nothing." He crumpled it and tossed it over his shoulder. "What were you saying?"

"Do you know where the cobbler on Wight street is?"

"Yeah, I think so." Bannon took the lead, continuing their conversation. "So does this mean no royal advisory position?"

"Oh no, no, no, my little friend. Don't think you're weaseling out of _that_. And don't think it will grant you clemency from my wrothful wrath."

"Ooh, sound scary," Bannon commented. "I can't wait to see it."

Alistair laughed quietly. They left the market and headed into the streets that led towards the docks. As they drew closer to their destination, butterflies fluttered in his stomach. What was he nervous about? Goldana was his sister, his only family left. It'd be good to see her again.

Well, the laundry was easy enough to spot. It had a wide doorway and stone walls. Outside were piled canvas bags. Two thin tow-headed children worked on hauling them inside.

Alistair didn't realize he'd been standing there gawping until Bannon jostled his elbow. "You sure you want to go in?" the elf asked him.

"Yeah, yeah. Just trying to work out what to say." Alistair swallowed dryly, and they went inside.

There were a couple of younger kid running around, and a woman fussing with a toddler, mopping his face and straightening his ill-fitting clothes.

"G-Goldana?" Alistair stuttered. She looked so much like Mother. Just her hair was more pale, her hands redder, chapped. She looked so old, haggard even. Not like the young woman he remembered. He tried not to compare her to the desire demon.

"Drop off is dawn to half noon, ser," she said dully, not looking up. "Pickup is three to dusk. Rush can't be done faster than noon and costs twice and a half. If you're looking for other service, this is the wrong place."

"Uh... Goldana, it's me. Uh, Alistair."

She startled at that, looked up, flinched back. "Alist-?" She stood, blinking.

"Um, yes. Hi." So glad he rehearsed this several hundred times.

Goldana turned to the children. "Kerin, take your brothers in the back. Watch them while you're sorting."

"But, Mom!"

"_Now_, Kerin!"

The little girl huffed and went to the toddler, grabbed his hand. The other boy, only a year? two? younger, protested. "Why do I got to-?"

"You'll do as your told!"

The children scampered out the back. Goldana turned on Alistair, arms folded. "What are you doing here?"

"I... well, I... came to see you." He noticed Bannon fidgeting next to him, and he took hold of himself. This was his sister! Goldy. "I've missed you. And you didn't make it back for Mother's funeral."

"No, I had to work. That's what servants do," she stressed.

"Well, yes, I know. I understand. I just thought..."

"That when you're king, you'll need a royal laundress?"

"You know about that?"

Bannon leaned closer and said in a low voice, "Alistair, everybody knows about that."

"Oh. Right." He took a breath. "And why not? You're my sister. Or half, anyway, and there's no reason you can't live in the castle."

"Oh, a real castle," she sneered. "Where laundry tubs are made of gold. And I can have a job there. How generous, Ser Highness. And do you have jobs for my five children, too?"

_I'm an uncle!_ Some dopey mabari-brained part of his mind grinned. "I don't see why not," he said. The castle was certainly huge enough, wasn't it? For children.

"And my crippled husband? Are you going to take him in, too? If he hasn't drowned himself in a bottle by now."

"I'm sorry to hear. But I don't understand. Why are you angry? I just want to do something good for someone."

"After you destroyed our lives?"

"I-? Me? What did I do?"

Goldana shook her head. "Mother was never the same after they dumped you on us, some bastard the king didn't want underfoot. Did he give a damn about ruining a good woman's reputation?"

"Mother? Dumped? Wh-?" What as she saying? His mother... wasn't?

"What? All this time, you believed she was the king's whore?"

"I- no! I mean... not like that." His mother... _wasn't_. His mother. "He was the king! And her husband was gone..."

"You - " she swung her finger at him like a sword- "ruined us! Now you think you can just come in here and offer me a position as your servant? Cleaning your royal shit out of your royal smalls? And I'm supposed to be grateful?"

Bannon edged closer. "Come on. She doesn't care about you. You don't owe her anything."

She glared at him. "And what do you want, knife-ears?"

Bannon straightened, bristling with weapons.

Goldana didn't care. "They can dress you up in armor, but you're nothing but fodder for war. You're going to die, like all the other plague-ridden elves in the Alienage. And good riddance!"

Alistair could see Bannon clenching his teeth, all to avoid saying something to his sister. Who wasn't even his sister, apparently. He stepped forward. "That's enough!" He glared at her, and she stepped back. "You know, I _thought_ I had a kind, loving mother and sister, and a happy little family, but I can see that was all a lie, just like the rest of my life!" He turned and stormed out with a, "Let's go."

He blindly took off in a random direction. Bannon trotted after him to catch up. "Alistair, I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" He stopped and faced the elf. "No, I'm the one who's sorry. Her I am getting all mushy and maudlin over my family - a family that seems wasn't even mine! While all this time, your family's been trapped in that Alienage, and..." His face crumpled. "I'm so stupid!'

"No, Alistair, you're not."

"I am! We should go check on your family right away." He clenched his jaw in determination, and turned towards Eamon's estate. "Come on."

==_X_==


	7. In the Alienage

**In the Alienage**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Expected this to be out quicker; it took forever to type. Yes, it is long! Long is good, as Zevran would say!

* * *

**In the Alienage**

==#==

"Alistair, you will be having tea with several of your supporters and neutral patrons," Leliana informed him. "Some of them don't get along, so we have judiciously divided them into two tea times - nuncheon and afternoon tea. I've arranged the seating chart for, shall we say, minimum friction, yes?" She crinkled her nose with a cute smile. "You should memorise these names. I have prepared a simple mnemonic to make it easier." She handed him the papers.

"Uh, yeah, that's great; thanks Leliana," the knight said hurriedly. "I'll look at these when I get back."

"Back?"

Eamon asked, "Where are you going?"

"We're just going to pop over to the Alienage to see Bannon's family," Alistair replied. "We'll be back in plenty of time," he added at their worried looks.

"It's dangerous," Eamon warned.

"I'll be with Bannon and Zevran. It'll be fine."

"And to be blunt," the arl continued, "There are no Landsmeet votes to be attained in the Alienage." He glanced aside at Bannon. "No offense."

The elf shrugged his shoulders.

Alistair said, "Look, he doesn't even know if his family is still alive. We're going, and right now."

Eamon may have actually looked impressed. Before he changed his mind, Alistair turned to the others. "Sten, you want to go?"

"Will there be a battle?"

"No."

"Then it is pointless."

Alistair turned to the golem. "Shale?"

"Will there be squishing?"

"Look," the Templar said, "we're just going for a little walk, a little visit, a little chit-chat. Anybody who wants to come along, can."

"I'll go," Morrigan said, startling both Alistair and Bannon.

"You will?" the elf asked, a little warily.

"Yes. 'Twill be interesting to see where you come from. I've heard much about these 'alienages,' but have never seen one."

"Um, all right." Bannon couldn't seem to think of a reason for her not to. Alistair couldn't, either, but wondered why this seemed a bad idea.

==#==

The gate guard seemed supremely bored. He stared at Morrigan's decolletage while they told him their business in the alienage, then let them through.

They crossed the bridge and passed into the Alienage proper. It was as dreary and rundown as Bannon remembered all right. And it smelled. Not too badly, today; the river was running rather briskly.

"So...," said Alistair. "Are they going to mob us? That's what they do, right?" He seemed to be joking.

Zevran scoffed, but Bannon only said, "What, like that guy?"

Sure enough, up ahead, a man backpedaled out from a cross street, followed by three elves. One shoved at the man, sending him skidding to the dirty cobblestones.

"Get out, shem!" One of the elves picked up something from a nearby puddle. Probably mud. He hurled it at the human.

The others, even Zevran, looked to Bannon to see what they should do. Bannon just folded his arms and waited for the scene to play out.

"I was only trying to help!"

"Yeah, help _yourself!_ We don't need you coming in here." The elf aimed a kick at the downed man.

He scrambled away, getting his feet under him. He moved briskly towards the bridge. "Savages," he muttered as he passed the Wardens' group. Then he seemed to suddenly notice that two of the armed warriors were elves, and he trotted away even faster.

Bannon looked at Alistair who, if he had any judgments about that little scene, wisely kept them to himself.

"Lead the way, _amico_."

Bannon thought a moment. He didn't want to go to their apartment. He wouldn't be able to stand it if he found it empty. He led his companions towards the square. There would be people with news there. He could ask Valendrian.

"Spare a penny for veterans of the war?"

The three elves who'd rousted the shem now accosted them, with hands out.

Morrigan said, "_Now_ you want help from 'shems' as you call them?"

"You're honest warriors," said one.

"Yeah, like us. We was at Ostagar, y'know."

"Aye, a darkspawn et half me foot!"

Zevran muttered, "Well, that line is still going strong."

"Defending the kingdom, we were," the beggars waxed poetic.

Alistair frowned, but Bannon put on a big smile. "Of course you were! We were all there." He pulled three silvers from his pocket and gave one to each of them. Their eyes went wide as saucers.

"Thank you, ser!"

"Andraste's blessing on you!"

"Enjoy it in good health," Bannon said, still smiling fondly. He led his friends onward.

Alistair looked at him as if he were crazy. Even Zevran had a quirk to his brow.

Morrigan didn't hold back. "Is it wise to let these people know you have so much money?"

"They're not going to mug us," Bannon reassured her. "We're armed. They'd need a much bigger gang."

"Well, good to know," Alistair said dubiously.

In a few more turns, they could see the top of the Vhenadahl over the rooftops. It was a comforting sight. One of the greatest fears for a city elf was that the humans would come and cut down the mighty tree, or burn it in a Purge. Yes, it was 'only' one tree as the Dalish had scoffed, but it was older than anyone, ancient like the elven civilization that once had existed.

But the shems knew better. Destroy the Vhenadahl only if you want the elves to riot and commit bloody massacres in your streets.

"Ah, the Vhenadahl," Zevran said reverently. Then added, "The tree they give us to remind us of our noble elven heritage. Then we pee on it."

"Zevran! You do _not_ pee on the Vhenadahl!"

"No? You can't tell me you have not stumbled home drunk one night, with your bladder over-full, and passed by-"

"Zevran, shut up!"

Was that a suppressed snicker from Alistair? Or was it Morrigan? Bannon ignored them, and the annoying assassin.

As they drew closer to the square, they heard voices. Bannon trotted ahead when he heard Shianni's name.

"Go home, Shianni," Elva harped. "Nobody wants to hear the paranoid fantasies of a shem-broke woman!"

"You go home! All of you go home," Shianni yelled at the crowd. "These people are not helping us!"

The square was filled with people, families with children. They all looked towards the far side of the square, milling about as if waiting for something.

A man scoffed at Shianni. "They cured my Pitel!"

"He wasn't sick," she insisted. "And what about all the people they failed to help? What about Keene, and Braida? What about Misha's girls?"

"They died of the plague, not for lack of helping!"

Elva snarled, "You just want everyone to be sick like you. We don't want you here. Now go home!"

"Yeah, go home!" Others turned to Shianni with threatening scowls, clenched fists.

Bannon came up beside his cousin, glaring at them. They drew back, eyeing his armor and weapons. "What's going on? Shianni?"

She turned. Her mouth dropped open, here eyes flew wide. "Bannon!" She threw herself at him, and he caught her gingerly, mindful of the buckles and hardware on his weapon harness. "You're alive! We were so worried when we heard all the Grey Wardens had been killed, and you didn't come back...!"

He hugged her. "Yes, I'm alive."

She pulled away a moment later. "Zack told me, and I didn't know what to think, and did you get my message?"

"No, I didn't. Shianni, what's going on? Where's my dad? Is he -?"

"They took him!"

"Who?"

Shianni looked around. The crowd had drawn back, and some gawked at them. She tugged Bannon towards the other side of the Vhenadahl.

The others followed them. "These are my friends," Bannon told Shianni. "Alistair; he's another Grey Warden. That's Zevran, and that's Morrigan. She's a Witch of the Wilds."

Shianni nodded shyly to the humans, nervously stepping back.

Zevran said, "_Mi encanta, seniorita_," with a sensual smile. Her cheeks reddened.

"Nevermind him," Bannon said, putting himself in front of Shianni to block her view of the Antivan. "Who took my dad? Where is he?"

She took a breath. "They say they're healers, but they're taking people who aren't sick. Then they claim they died of the plague. They took Uncle Cyrian three days ago."

"Wait, what heal-? No. Start at the beginning. After Ostagar. They said there was a plague?"

She nodded. "When the elves returned from Ostagar, some of them were sick, with the Taint."

Bannon looked over to Alistair. "Could they have gotten that from camp? They weren't fighting darkspawn."

Alistair thought. "Maybe. If they were in the sick tent."

Bannon nodded. Of course, the elves would have to fetch water, bring food and healing supplies, wash soiled linens, burn infected bandages.

Shianni said, "They said some of the wagons were attacked on the retreat. The soldiers had to fight darkspawn off."

Bannon frowned. If there had been darkspawn that far north... maybe Loghain had been right - the battle was lost and retreat the only option. He glanced at Alistair. A line creased the Templar's brow.

Shianni continued. "Valendrian set up a hall where the sick could be tended. They... they didn't survive. When the shems got wind of it, they locked us in.

"Valendrian was handling it. Then..." Her eyes flicked past Bannon for a moment. "Arl Howe started a Purge. It lasted for days." Her voice wavered. "They-They came into our homes. Anyone who stayed in... even they weren't safe."

Bannon reached to grip her shoulder in comfort, but she moved back.

"Then... Then these people showed up. Healers, they said they were, with strange accents. Antivan, I think? Howe said it was to make sure the sickness was truly eradicated, but Bannon, something strange is going on." She took a breath. "These so-called healers... they claim people are sick, take them away to treat them. Most of them die, or so we're told. The bodies burned to prevent spread of plague. But I told you, Valendrian handled those with the Taint. It didn't spread. We're not sick - there is no plague!"

Alistair asked, "If they're not sick, why are they going to the healers?"

"It's free healing! Every cough or sniffle, every aching joint, or old bone breaks that act up... Who wouldn't try to see a healer when they had the chance?"

Bannon said to the Templar, "We don't have healers in here every day. The Chantry charges money if you go there."

"We have herbalists," Shianni said. "Had." She looked at the ground.

"Where's Valendrian?" Bannon asked. "Why hasn't he done something?"

She didn't raise her head. "He's one of the first ones they took."

Zevran said, "I am interested in these 'Antivan' healers. Odd that they should send for foreigners."

Morrigan said, "Not if their own mages were lost in that tower overrun by demons. Or that... what do they call the slaughter of mages?'

"The Right of Annulment," Alistair supplied bitterly.

"Perhaps so," Zevran allowed. To Shianni he said, "These foreigners, do they talk like me?"

She shook her head.

"He's Antivan," Bannon explained.

Zevran said, "I think we should investigate this, _mi patrone_."

"_Si._"

==#==

They circumnavigated the crowd to get closer to these 'healers.' Three robed men with triangular beards stood on the raised platform.

"Please, please." One man raised his hands and gestured the elves back. "We will see and tend to everyone. You must be patient." He had an accent, but not Antivan.

Zevran growled low, "Is Tevinter."

Bannon frowned. They knew what that meant. He turned to Shianni. "Where are they keeping these 'sick' people?"

"Alarith's store."

"Where's Alarith?" He'd never let these people take over.

Shianni's eyes welled up. "The Purge."

They'd killed Alarith? Well, no surprise there. Bannon hoped he'd taken a few of the shems with him. But what of the secret school. "Did they find...?"

"I don't know."

"All right. Stay back."

Bannon marched up to the platform. He easily caught the eye of one of the mages. The man came swiftly down the steps.

"My friend, you are very, very ill. You must come inside at once."

"I am?"

He nodded. "You may not feel the effects yet, but we are trained to sense these things."

He looked so sincere and worried that Bannon had to wonder if he could somehow sense the Taint. "I have been feeling... strange. Since I drank... something that didn't agree with me. I've been having terrible nightmares, and my appetite hasn't been the same."

The man nodded. "Come inside, quickly."

"Hey! Why does he get to go first?" someone in the crowd yelled. And, "I've been waiting here three days!"

"This man is very ill! Please, you want to stay back."

"What about my friend here?" Bannon gestured to Alistair.

The knight stepped forward. "Yeah, I drank some, too."

The mage looked him up and down, then shook his head. "No. No, you're fine."

"Really?"

"You are hale, thank the Maker."

A second mage came down and pulled the same act on Zevran. "You are very sick as well."

"Am I?"

Bannon started to cough, a deep, wet hacking. He gestured for Zevran to hang back.

"I feel fine," the Antivan said. When the mage started to argue, he added, "I assure you, the moment I feel the slightest twinge, I shall be here, begging for your attention."

Bannon started hacking up a lung, and the crowd drew back. Zevran melted back with them.

"He could infect us all!"

"Let's get out of here!"

The third mage tried to calm the crowd. The elves suddenly weren't so eager to be around the healing hall if they might catch whatever disease Bannon had. That was one way to get them to go home. The second moved to go after Zevran, but Bannon collapsed on him, and both mages were needed to hold him up. They started pulling him towards the store.

"Let me help you with him," Alistair said.

"No! You can't go inside. You might contract the plague."

"Stay, back," Bannon panted dramatically. "I don't want you to die!"

Zevran tugged at the Templar's arm. "We should stay away, as he wishes." Staying out of reach of the mages, he called to Bannon, "Good luck, my friend! If you don't make it, have no fear, for I shall take very good care of all your worldly possessions!"

"See you...," Bannon gasped out, "on the other side! Farewell!"

The mages dragged him through the door and shut it firmly.

==#==

Zevran thought quickly. He turned to Shianni. "Where is the back door, _seniorita?_"

"This way."

She led them around to the back alley. Zevran turned and told her, "Go back and get your people to safety."

"Didn't you notice? They don't want to listen to me."

"Perhaps you can persuade them with something other than the truth they do not want to hear."

She chewed on the inside of her lip. "Like Bannon does."

Zevran chuckled softly. "Just so."

The young redhead nodded. "I'll try." She marched back the way they'd come.

Zevran turned to Alistair and Morrigan. "Let's go."

They found an elf lad hanging about near the back door. "Piss off. No one's allowed here."

"Really?" the assassin said. "You're here."

"I'm guarding the door."

"You? You're a sapling. Did you not notice our weapons? Or were you too busy oogling the witch's breasts?"

The boy's eyes snapped back to Zevran. "They pay me ten whole coppers a day to keep people from snooping around here."

"Ten!?" Zevran was, in fact, impressed.

Alistair said, "We're not going to have to fight this kid, are we? I don't think I'm all right with that."

Zevran waved him off. "Of course not! We shall use Bannon's strategy." He dug into his belt pouch, past vials and sundries, and finally produced a silver coin. "How about we buy you out?"

The boy's eyes got big. "That would be fair!"

Zevran pulled the coin back from his greedy grasping hands. "And perhaps we can buy the key from you as well?"

"They don't gimme no key," the boy scoffed. "They only want me to keep people _out_."

Zevran sighed. "Fine, fine." He handed over the coin and shooed the boy away. He went to the door and tried the handle. Locked, of course. "_Brasca!_"

Morrigan said, "Well, now we really do need Bannon."

"Pah! I can pick this lock!"

"You can?" asked Alistair in disbelief.

"Your lack of faith wounds me! Just keep watch." Zevran found the lockpicks in his pouch and set to work.

Several minutes later, Morrigan said, "This would be faster were I to freeze the lock, and then we wait for it to rust out."

"Shut up witch," Zevran growled. "I am concentrating."

Alistair added, "I could probably bash it in-"

"Stealth!" Zevran insisted. "That is Bannon's way."

"Don't think it's our way," Alistair grumbled.

And Morrigan said, "I hope he's still alive by the time we get there."

"If you want to actually help, go fly back to Eamon's estate and fetch the others. With Blood Mages, we need all the help we can get."

At first, he didn't think Morrigan would heed him. But after a few moments, he felt the sussurration of magic brush the hairs on the back of his neck, and heard the flapping of wings that receded over the rooftops.

Finally, the lock clicked open. "Aha! I am ridiculously awesome!"

"You _do_ know that Bannon could have done that in like three seconds."

"Everyone is a critic." Zevran shushed the Templar, then eased the door open. A dim hallway was beyond. "Stay back," the assassin whispered. "Try not to clank."

They snuck inside the dimly-lit shop. Or what used to be a shop. There were many things shoved in the back for storage. They found a larger room lined with empty cots. A body sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, one of the mages.

"Bannon?" Zevran hissed.

"In here."

Zevran came out of his crouch at his partner's unhushed voice. He and Alistair came through a doorway to an adjacent room with a desk. Bannon stood looking down at some papers upon it.

Alistair asked, "What happened to him?" indicating the dead Tevinter.

"After they gave me a 'healing potion' to knock me out, he tried to relieve me of my weapons and armor."

Zevran snorted.

"What? I helped by sticking one in his ribs."

Alistair said, "Have you figured out what they're doing here?"

Zevran snapped, "Isn't it obvious, Alistair? You're just lucky they didn't flag you as 'sick.' Tevinters take human slaves, not just elves."

"Slavers?"

Bannon handed him the papers. "Look at this. 'Send a dozen healthy young males. Twenty virginal girls.'"

"An order list," Zevran sneered.

"And this one, cargo manifest." Bannon paced the small room while the Templar read. "You see that? 'Skilled artisan.' That's my father!" Then he shoved past them. "Where's Morrigan? We have to go."

"We sent her back to get the others," Alistair said. "We should wait for them."

Zevran added, "_Si_, and in the meantime, we can lure the other two in here, for a bit of assassination."

"There's no time," Bannon insisted. "Look at the date - the slave ship is due to set sail this morning!"

"Bannon, we can't fight them, just the three of us," Alistair said. "We don't know how many there are. And they're most likely Blood Mages." He and Zevran followed the agitated elf out past the cooling body.

"They use knock-out drugs. They... They don't have guards in here. There might only be a few of them."

Zevran mused, "The only guard on the back door was some local boy."

Bannon pounced on that. "See! For all we know, it's just these three - well, two."

"But how are they getting all the elves to their ship?" Alistair asked. "Without being seen?"

"If they're unconscious, and wrapped like corpses... they could haul them out to be 'burned' right under everyone's noses."

"I don't know," said Alistair.

"Fine," Bannon spat. "Stay here, then. Zevran, let's go."

"Of course, _amore_."

"Bannon, _wait_." Alistair forestalled them from heading out the back. "We don't need to wait for the others, or to fight these people on our own. We can call the city guard, get them to look about and seize the ship."

"The city guard?" Bannon asked incredulously. "You think they're going to help a bunch of elves?"

To which Zevran added, "You think they don't already know about it?"

Alistair turned to him. "Slavery is illegal in Ferelden!"

"So you truly think Howe sent away... all the way to Tevinter, for some perfectly benign mage healers to help his poor, plague-ridden elves?" Zevran's voice rose as he carried on. "And somehow, he got swindled, because they actually sent slavers to help empty out his Alienage right under his nose? Without him having the faintest clue what was going on? Get your head out of your ass!"

"You need to stop thinking that every human is out to get you!" the Templar shot back.

"All right, stop," Bannon cut in. "I have a plan."

"That's more like it." The Templar settled down.

"Alistair, you stay here, wait for the others. Zevran and I will go on ahead."

"When you said 'plan,' I thought you meant a better one than charging in there and getting yourselves killed."

"We won't charge in," Bannon explained. "We'll sneak in. We'll mark the path so you guys can catch up with us. If we find any sentries, we'll take them out. If we get in there and there are only a few mages, we can get the drop on them."

"It only takes one mage," Alistair warned.

"If there's too many, we'll wait. Alright?"

"Well..."

The elves didn't' wait for an answer.

==#==

The path the slavers took was quite clear, actually. There was a blind alley behind Alarith's store. Then another heading East, which was covered with scaffolding. Bannon didn't know where they were heading. The sea wall was the tallest and thickest, and there were no gates, except where the river flowed through. If one could consider a grate a gate.

They were in the poorest part of the Alienage now. The streets narrower, the windows fewer, piled boxes of apartments stacked one atop another. It smelled of sickness and rot.

The elves came to a boarded-up alleyway with a large sign. DANGER. KEEP OUT. "This is where they've been repairing an old part of the wall," Bannon said. "They've been at it for years."

"Shems come all the way down here?"

Bannon scoffed. "Not since the first few weeks. There's a gang in residence here. Nasty thugs. Keep an eye out for them." He went to look for a way past the barrier.

"What are they called? The Hole In The Wall Gang?" Zevran scanned what little of the alleyways he could see from here, paying special attention to the scaffolding above, peering through any chinks in the wood planks. All was quiet. He gripped his dagger hilts.

"No, the Rats or Lizards or something."

"Not very imaginative," the Antivan muttered. Then he said, "If Howe only wanted elves taken as slaves, I have to wonder why he didn't just send to Antiva, instead of all the way to Tevinter."

"Probably because he got such a bad deal hiring Antivans before."

"Hey!"

"Not complaining," Bannon assured him. "Just sayin'."

"At least with Antivans, we wouldn't have to worry about Blood Mages."

"Yeah, but there'd be more guards. Here we go."

The barricade was cleverly latched and hinged. Bannon pulled it wide, then found a brick to prop it open. With his dagger, he drew a big arrow on the back of the wood.

Zevran peered down the shadowy passage. "Close quarters?"

"Yeah."

"Daggers, then."

The elves drew a blade with each hand, then crept inside.

==#==

Alistair paced and fretted. Why had he let the elves go alone? When were the others getting here? If he went after Bannon, how would they know which way to go? What if the elves got themselves killed?

Alistair took a deep breath and faced the alley. He tried to sense his fellow Grey Warden. He thought he could... or was it his imagination? Surely, he would know if Bannon were in trouble, or hurt, or... or worse. Right? This would be so much easier if they were fighting darkspawn instead of Blood Mages.

Finally, a crow swooped down to the street.

"Are they coming? Where are they? Go fly down there and see if you can see where the elves are." Alistair hoped he wasn't talking to some random ordinary bird.

No, the crow shook its feathers and expanded back into human form. "You let them go alone?" she snapped.

"I tried to stop them and make them wait, but I couldn't, alright?" Alistair ran a gauntleted hand over his hair. "They have his father, Morrigan. It's _family_." He still knew what that meant, despite everything. But did the witch? "You must have some inkling what that's like. It was you and your mother all alone in the wilderness. Surely you'd... worry if she were hurt. Or killed."

Yellow eyes never looked so icy. "My mother raised me, like cattle, to serve her as a vessel she would possess when her own body became too old."

"Sh-? Wh... What?"

"Nevermind. Mother's dead."

"Sh-? Flemeth?" Alistair's mind scrambled to try to deal with this information from another time and place, so far away, and so irrelevant in this moment.

"'Tis not important!" Morrigan barked. "Where did those two fools head off to, and how are we expected to find them?"

"Down there." He pointed. "And they said they'd mark the trail. But when are the others getting here?"

"In their own time."

"You didn't show them the way?"

"Really, Alistair, _some_ people are capable of following directions."

"But when they get here-"

"They will have to figure it out."

"No wait!" he called as she turned down the alley. An idea flashed in his mind. He ran inside, back to the slavers' office, to write a note. This, he pinned to the back door with the dead Tevinter's belt knife.

"Anyone could see that," the witch complained.

"Not if they're coming out the back door," Alistair countered. "Besides, by then it won't matter." He pulled his helmet on. "Let's go."

==#==

Zevran took the lead within the maze of tunnel-like passageways. It was a good thing; the place was lined with traps. The assassin slowed down, checked carefully, whereas he feared Bannon would have rushed in carelessly, with the same recklessness that had left their muscle and magic firepower behind.

Of course Zevran didn't mind rushing into danger, if that is what his _patrone_ wanted. He'd love to gut a few slavers given half a chance. But he didn't understand Bannon's urgency.

Unlike Zevran, Bannon knew his father, who had raised him. His mother was gone, but unlike Zevran's, she had... hadn't sold him into slavery.

The assassin wasn't sure about this whole familial loyalty thing. It sat uneasily with him. But, ah well. The thrill, the danger, the chance to fight side by side with his partner, competing for points - it was a good way to die. An even better way to live.

Zevran signaled a halt. There was a tripwire here, but this one was sloppily set, and seemed to only to connected to a box of thin wood slats, balanced to tip over and spill a handful of tarnished metal spoons. An alarm.

Bannon crouched at the other side of the passage and pulled his helmet off with an irritated flick to free his hair. Zevran would have to show him how to braid it back. He followed suit. The Dalish helmets were comfortable enough, but still blocked sound to some degree.

They listened and heard low voices ahead. With a nod, they stepped over the alarm and crept closer. Bannon peeked around a corner. After a moment, he held up his hand, fingers splayed. Five, good. There wouldn't be any tied score.

Bannon turned back and mouthed, "Elves." His whisper barely crossed the hall. "I'm going to talk to them." He gestured for Zevran to sneak around.

The assassin frowned, but nodded. He clipped the helmet to his belt. Yes, it left his head more exposed to blows, but it also left his eyes and ears unblocked, the better to notice those blows coming and avoid them altogether. Really, Zevran rather preferred sneaking around naked. Like that time in the Contessa's country manor. That had been fun! Zevran shook the memories from his mind. He could tell Bannon that story later. Maybe if they found a private little nook somewhere at Eamon's estate. _Later!_

He found a side door to the room Bannon had entered, and eased the door slowly open while the thief distracted the guards.

==#==

"Hello?" Bannon called out carefully.

The gang members leapt to their feet, pulling out an assortment of daggers and short swords. Their armor, what there was of it, was piecemeal and patched. Scavenged, no doubt.

"Whoa, hey, easy." Not espying any crossbows, Bannon eased out into the doorway, his clearly empty hands held up. "I'm sorry to barge in on your like this, but your door was open."

"Spatch!" One of the bigger elves clobbered the little guy next to him.

"Ow! But I'm sure I closed it this time!"

The woman in the center snapped, "Enough! What do you want, knife-ears?"

"Oh, are you in charge? Pleased to meet you. My name's Bannon. That guy who murdered a bunch of nobles up at the arl's estate?" He paused to see if they recognized that.

"You're him?" Spatch breathed. His companion thwapped him on the head again.

"And you are...?"

The woman scowled. "We're the Red Slicers, and you didn't answer my question."

"Well, I've been tracking some Tevinter slavers. Have you seen any?"

"Duh," said the big lout. Spatch snickered.

The woman stepped forward, her dagger aimed straight at Bannon. "Who do you think we're guarding this passage for, you idiot?"

"Why would you work for them?" Bannon countered. He folded his arms, without making any sudden moves. He also edged sidewise, away from the direction Zevran should be coming from. He couldn't see the assassin, but he wasn't looking, lest he give something away.

"Because they pay _very_ well."

"But they're slavers," he said, looking into her eyes. "You'd let them enslave your people?"

She snorted. "They're not my people. _I'm_ my people. And you-!"

Bannon laughed, throwing his head back, exposing his throat if she had the wherewithal to slash it. In her confusion, she didn't. He laughed harder to cover the sound of one of her lackey's bodies slumping to the floor. "I've heard of people willing to sell their own mother, but I didn't know I'd ever meet one!"

She snarled, but he went on, pacing side to side while he prattled. "Do you think they'll buy my sister? She's nothing but trouble! Lays around all day, does nothing but complain, and wonders why she keeps getting pregnant. Seriously? After five times, you'd think she'd figure it out!"

Another gang member disappeared into the shadows.

"'Oh, help me, help me!' she whines. Expects me to do everything, you know? So I find her a job. Is she grateful? No! It's just 'why do I have to work? I want to be rich and idle.' Whine, whine, whine!"

He dropped his hands to his belt and came up with two daggers. Without warning, he slashed for the leader's throat.

She jumped back, and Bannon cursed himself. Had he been too slow? Pulled his strike, like he had at the brothel? He just didn't want to kill any elf, especially a woman. But she was an enemy. He was determined to go through with it this time.

He needn't have worried. She launched herself at him. He caught her blades on his own, but she rammed a knee to his groin as they both tumbled to the floor. Pain jarred him to his core, and he hoped she at least bruised her kneecap on his codpiece.

The fight was quick and dirty and bloody. Bannon turned away from the bodies, cleaning his daggers. Zevran was bleeding along several spots on his arm. "What happened there?" Bannon asked him.

Zevran frowned, turning his arm to inspect the damage. "He was a biter. Heh, like trapped rats, no?" A little bloodletting always put Zevran in a good mood. Bannon couldn't share it this time. _She's not my people_, he insisted. _She said so herself_. He took a breath and prepared a witty retort when a crash sounded behind them.

The elves sprang apart, angling for cover on either side of the doorway. A shield and a knight appeared in the doorway.

"Alistair," Bannon called, so he wouldn't attack them.

"Oh, there you are." He frowned. "Why aren't you wearing your helmets?"

"So we don't blunder into any traps."

From the passage, Morrigan said, "I told you I should go first."

"If you want to go first, and catch all those arrows so my shield doesn't get nicked, I'd really appreciate it," Alistair responded dryly. The tower emblem on his shield had been nearly obliterated by cuts, scrapes, patches, and one lopsided dent. His dwarven armor came with a new matching shield, but he preferred his old set. The dwarven armor was his 'feastday best,' he insisted. No use mucking it up in actual combat.

"Where are the others?" Bannon asked.

"They will catch up," Morrigan said.

"If they can follow Morrigan's directions," Alistair muttered.

Bannon shook his head. "They'd better hurry. We can't wait."

Zevran drew a lurid arrow in blood, leading to the next door, since he didn't have the time to artfully arrange the bodies.

They passed through three rooms, bare of everything but a rickety stool, then came to a claustrophobically narrow hall. The elves went first, disarming traps.

Alistair commented, "This place is entirely unlike a maze."

"They don't want their slaves to get 'lost' on the way to the ship," Zevran replied darkly.

At the end of the passage, there was a heavy door, locked, but not for long.

It opened to the outside, under some more scaffolding. Trash, loose bricks, and broken boards were piled up in a thick barricade on either side. And ahead, the wall, with a crooked dark hole in it.

If only the gang had shared it with the elves, more could have escaped the Purge. Instead, they sold it to the Tevinters. Bannon clenched his teeth in anger.

On the other side of the hole was much the same. A shack had been erected as an entryway through the back wall of a warehouse. This door, locked, was quickly opened and the human guard snoozing inside just as quickly dispatched. His armor was nondescript leather; it wasn't clear if he was Tevinter or a local. If he worked for Howe or Loghain, he didn't do it under their insignia.

The front of the warehouse was cut off by a wall of crates. Here at the back was a long empty space. Narrow stairs on the seaward side led up to a high platform. There were three more guards up there. They yelled and ran to descend the steps to engage the intruders.

"Seriously?" Zevran sighed.

"This is almost too easy," Morrigan added. An ice bolt turned the third man into a heavy chunk of frozen water and flesh. Momentum carried it down onto his companions, and they all came crashing and bumping to the floor below. Taking into account the broken bones, not to mention the hideous embarrassment of it all, cutting their throats seemed rather considerate.

"Do you think anyone heard that?" Alistair wondered.

Bannon and Zevran raced up the steps, the others behind. At the top were two doors. The far one was open. Bannon gestured Zevran ahead. The assassin flattened himself to the wall and peeked through. He shook his head, seeing nothing.

The other door was unlocked. Bannon eased it open, but found only another such balcony on the other side, with a solid wood plank rail. The elves went through and looked over.

It was not good.

==_X_==


	8. Caladrius

**Caladrius**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: cliffhanger!

_Author's Notes:_

Oh man, what a battle. If I do say so myself! Trivia: this battle has a music video in my head; it's to Duran Duran's 'Wild Boys' extended mix. I did get a few B&Z music videos made years ago, but... ah those were the days!

_Recap:_

Bannon went to check on his family in the Alienage and found these Tevinter slavers posing as healers. He and Zevran went ahead to find out where they'd gone - with Bannon's dad! - and Alistair and Morrigan finally caught up to them.

Now in the warehouse...

* * *

**Caladrius**

==#==

A bald man, clearly Tevinter, and clearly a mage in rich, fur-trimmed robes, stood in the center of the room, surrounded by a score of guards with crossbows. They were all looking up in expectation.

The mage smiled. "The legendary Grey Wardens, I presume? Ah, good." His gaze shifted to Alistair, who had come through the door and drew alongside Bannon. Bannon signalled behind his back for Morrigan to stay out of sight. Meanwhile, the man kept talking.

"I am Magister Caladrius of Tevinter. I assure you I am here quite legally, under contract with your government. Let us talk! I can offer you great aid in the upcoming battle with the Blight."

"Well, talk," Bannon called down.

Caladrius frowned at the uppity elf. He still addressed Alistair, naturally presuming the human was in charge of the Grey Wardens.

Bannon listened, but didn't let himself be distracted from analyzing the situation. The stairs they had climbed on the other side of the wall had been long, perhaps three storeys. But on this side, the floor was higher.

To his left was a row of cages, packed with elves. Most sat or lay still. A few stood, leaning on the bars, listless eyes looking out at the world with little hope. Bannon couldn't see his father, and forced himself to stop looking.

Across the large room was a wide sliding door, for shifting big cargo containers. The slavers couldn't cart a bunch of slaves through the docks, they must be loading the ship right from here. This section of the warehouse could be built over the water, the floor raised to the height of a ship's deck.

The front of this balcony was thin, but solid, wood. Sets of fairly wide steps led down either side, broken by a square landing midway. Two men could pass side by side, and this Caladrius had more than enough to rush them.

"I understand why you attacked my men," Caladrius was saying. "But there is no need. You are clearly under a misapprehension. Let's clear things up between us."

Zevran said, "It seems _quite_ clear that you are here taking slaves."

"Slavery is illegal in Ferelden," Alistair added with bite.

"No, no. That's not what is going on at all! We were invited here by the Ferelden government, to help relocate some of the elves of the stricken Alienage. They are not slaves, they are to become farmers, each with his own holding in the sunny southern lands of Tevinter."

"Oh," said Alistair, "that explains the cages, then."

"And," Zevran added, "how you need to sneak them out through the wall, away from prying eyes."

"And the whole fake healer thing," said Bannon.

"Well," said Caladrius with a moue of disappointment. "There's a chest of gold here. Let me take my last load of refugees and be off, never to return. If the gold ends up funding the Grey Wardens instead of in the city coffers..." He spread his hands with an oily smile.

"Are we listening to this?" Alistair muttered to Bannon.

"Let him talk."

Alistair frowned. The thief couldn't be swayed by gold, could he?

The mage was encouraged. "Perhaps something more directly helpful than gold? I have powerful magic. I could make you as strong as ten men, or swift and agile as the gazelle. Hearty, even heartier than the legendary Grey Wardens. Be invulnerable to mere mortal foes, laugh in the face of the Archdemon."

"And where's this magic come from?" Alistair asked with biting skepticism.

Again that oily smile. "We have powerful magics in Tevinter. A handful of these poor unfortunates will generate enough power to grant you these gifts."

Alistair recalled the grisly Blood Magic death of Isolde, and swallowed his gorge.

"We'll take the rest, and our gold, and be gone." Caladrius tipped his head. "Surely it would be better than a fight? You're sorely outnumbered. And I am not your enemy, the Blight is. Grey Wardens do take aid wherever it is offered, do they not?"

Now Alistair thought about Avernus and his... unnatural experiments. The entire shady history of the Grey Wardens. Almost anything was worth the cost of defeating the Blight. Wasn't it? What would Duncan do?

What would Bannon do? Perhaps he'd bargain for his father's freedom? And the others? If the Blight won, all these people would die anyway. Was it worth it? Alistair looked at his elven companions.

Bannon's lips were compressed in thought, his brows lowered. Zevran's face was a stone mask, his eyes dark.

"Well," the mage drawled. "What shall it be, Wardens? Wealth? Strength? Or death?"

Bannon took a breath, then said slowly and calmly, "Wow. That sounds like a really good deal." Zevran's shead snapped around to glare at his partner. "But I have a better one," Bannon continued. "How about I give you the finger - " which he proceeded to do- "and you _set my people free!_"

The Blood Mage's smirk turned into a frown of disgust. "Kill them!"

The twang of crossbows sounded and a swarm of bolts sped at them. The three ducked behind the rail. Bannon started snapping orders.

"Alistair, block the left stair."

"On it."

"Morrigan, jam them up on the right, but stay out of sight."

"And us, _mi patrone?_" The elves stood and looked over the rail while Alistair took his position. It was a bit wide for one knight to bottleneck, but at least it was narrower than the Redcliffe bridge.

Below, the guardsmen discarded their spent crossbows in favor of swords, and charged, boiling up the steps on both sides, like a river running in reverse.

Bannon's lips twitched as the men left Caladrius alone in a wide empty space. "Us? Down the middle." He leapt over the rail, Zevran half a heartbeat behind.

Alistair turned to look and he wasn't the only one.

Bannon hit the floor, steadying his landing with his fists. Zevran landed, tucked into a roll and came up ahead of him. Both drew steel and shot straight for Caladrius. The shocked look on the Blood Mage's face was priceless.

The fighters seemed confused about which way to go, to attack Alistair or defend their master. Alistair helped the first one decide with a boot to his face.

Just as the elves were about to pounce, Caladrius unleashed a magical blast. Bannon and Zevran were knocked flying back.

The guards shifted direction, trying to swarm the fallen elves. Morrigan rushed to the rail and cast an ice cone on her side, at the lowest soldiers, transforming them into a frozen barricade. The ones behind ran into them, then some tried to muscle their way through, mindful not to break their companions.

Five of them had a better idea and turned to attack the mage.

"Morrigan," Alistair called as he started down his side after the Tevinters, "stay back. Gotta bring the Templar to this fight."

"Understood."

Morrigan 'fled' the enemy soldiers, retreating back through the doorway. A patch of ice helped the first on his way through and over the rail. The second and third grabbed on for dear life and the witch blasted them with her staff.

The other two showed a bit more brains and flanked her through the other door. She jumped atop the rail and launched into the air, spun into a flip as she transformed into a giant spider, and landed on the ceiling. She cocked her head back, mandibles wide, and spat. The green acidic saliva struck the men, blinding the one hit in the open face of his helm, made the others flinch back.

Then she dropped on them to bite some heads.

==#==

The elves were surrounded, but they were holding their own, twin blades flashing in a nonstop deadly whirl. Alistair battled two guards, trying to push them back and angle so he could move towards his friends.

He heard the Tevinter begin a spell. Alistair dropped back, throwing his attackers off balance momentarily. He gathered his will, focused, and let it burst out from his chest. He could feel it, if it wasn't his imagination, but he couldn't see or hear it.

It's effect was clear, though.

Caladrius flung out his hands and absolutely nothing happened. Shock flashed across his face, then he snapped his head to fix Alistair with a seething glare.

Alistair bobbed his eyebrows at the mage. _Yeah, don't have Templars in Tevinter, do you?_

"Kill the knight!" Caladrius screamed as he ducked behind the thick of his guards. "Open one of the cages!"

Back into battle! Alistair wanted to pursue the mage, but the guards redoubled their attack on him. In the thick of it, Bannon ran past, weaving between fighters. He hamstrung one, but another lashed out and gashed his thigh. The elf didn't slow down, but continued towards the cages, where one of the guards was trying to open the lock. Surely he didn't mean to stop the man from freeing the elves? And why had Caladrius ordered it? It couldn't be good.

Bannon stopped and turned on the mercenary pursuing him. They exchanged blows and the elf head-butted the man back. Then he flung his left sword behind him. It skittered across the floor to come to rest at the feet of the man opening the cage. An assortment of daggers followed. One fetched up against the cage floor and a hand reached out eagerly to grab it.

If Caladrius thought the elves would run away and cause a distraction, or be helpless hostages, he was sorely mistaken.

The guard ran through the first elf to leap out at him, but the next dove and came up with the sword. Several others flooded out, scrambling for the daggers.

Blood pooled on the floor from the guttend elf, and soon the guard as he was swarmed, and the rest as they fought desperately without armor. One of the elves cried out and stared in horror as his droplets of blood from his wounds began to rise up through the air around him.

Caladrius' guards immediately retreated.

"Look out!" Alistair yelled as he, too, backpedalled. "Blood Ma-!"

With a horrible shriek, the elf exploded, throwing his comrades back, covering them with blood spray, peppering them with bone shrapnel. To make matters worse, the blood slicking the floor burst into unholy red flame.

Alistair ground his teeth. He had to get to that damned mage! And where was Morrigan? This would be so much easier if his target was frozen stiff.

==#==

Morrigan saw the two Tevinter mage 'healers' charge into the warehouse. Clearly, they had discovered their murdered companion and the other bodies the elves had left behind. Her eight eyes also picked up the flash of skin as they flung their wide sleeves back, the glint of steel as razors bit their flesh.

She dropped back to the platform and curled, shrinking to her original form. She ducked a volley of spellbolts, grabbed her staff, and fired back. This was not good. She was surrounded by headless bodies and their collective lake of blood painting the floor, walls, and railings.

She scrambled back into the relative cover of the doorways, but judging by the sounds of fighting on this side, she wouldn't stand much of a chance if the guards saw her. She had no armor. One lucky sword strike...

She had to admit there was perhaps some advantage to having an armored Templar in front of you to catch arrows and swords and the like.

Morrigan sneered at the rebellious thought. She darted back to the other platform and blasted magical bolts down at the Tevinters, to at least keep them from climbing the stairs and joining the melee.

They didn't seem to be in that much of a rush. They were two against one, and they were fresh. Bolts criss-crossed as they fired back. Morrigan conjured a shield, but at the rate they could fire, it wouldn't last long. Then the blood on the floor and walls burst into flame.

Stifling a cry, she fell back, quite literally, through the doorway, beating at the flames licking at her ankles.

She had to freeze these mages, but doing so required at least a few seconds to aim the spell. There was no way her shield would hold up that long. Now she had to calculate. Would her waning energy serve best here to slow them down? Or should she retreat and survive?

==#==

Bannon had one sword and one dagger left. At least the guardsmen had only one sword apiece. No shields. Decent armor; all right, he could work with that. But this fighting head-on was not his style. Yet if he didn't face them, it would leave his people unprotected.

Those who had picked up the blades to fight now cowered in fear. Nevermind dying by being stabbed - bleeding and becoming a weapon for the enemy was far worse.

That was it, then. The head of the snake _had_ to be cut off. And he couldn't do it here. His people would have to fend for themselves. He disengaged by leaping back into the red flames. By moving quickly, he only became slightly singed.

"Use the fire," he ordered the elves. "Use your shirts. Throw the flame on them!" It was a thin plan, but better than nothing. He didn't explain or wait for a reply, he just turned and ran along the cages behind the dying flames. He ignored the cries for help, for freedom, for mercy. He'd love to stop and open the locks, but if they all wanted to get out of here alive, he had to kill Caladrius.

==#==

Alistair didn't think he was making any headway. His back heel thunked into the wall below the balcony. Nope, definitely the opposite of headway. At least he'd caught up to Zevran. If they could fight on a united front...

"Alistair!"

He looked over at the assassin's panicked cry. Drops of blood rose from Zevran's wounds, defying gravity. The Antivan's amber eyes widened with realization. "Zev- _WAIT!_"

The guards had pulled back in panic at the telltale signs of an imminent gore explosion. Zevran didn't hesitate to use the opportunity to hurl himself at Caladrius. Once again, the Blood Mage had underestimated the elves' willingness to make a suicidal run at him.

Alistair sprinted in Zevran's wake, leaving his back open to attack. His armor at least blunted some of the blows.

Caladrius raised a globe of force around himself. Zevran slammed into it with a roar of rage. Alistair nearly crashed into him trying to stop, but stopping wasn't his biggest concern. He only had a split second-

==#==

Bannon skirted the front wall of the warhouse, ignoring the fighting, letting it ignore him. He had to focus. _There!_ Two men stood close, guarding Caladrius, one on either side, but they were facing the other way. The mage was busy quickly preparing another spell.

Bannon crept ever closer until he could spring. He raced at the mage's back and leapt, sword raised to plunge into the man's back.

In mid-air, he saw the glimmer of the shield appear between him and his target. He had no time to think, no time to stop, only a split second to realize he'd already failed.

Then a silent rush of power vibrated the air. The shield was gone, Bannon's sword plunged into the mage's back, and the elf landed on him, driving him down.

Zevran fell forward as the shield collapsed under his assault. He caught his balance and drove his blade into the falling mage's guts. Caladrius collapsed in a fountain of blood.

Alistair panted. All right, good. They'd won. Right?

No. The mage's guardsmen roared and attacked from all sides.

Alistair turned away from the elves, raising his shield. They crowded together, back to back. "Surrender," the knight suggested. "And we will be merciful!"

"No we won't!" Zevran snarled.

"That's a bad plan!"

One of the guards retreated anyway. He ran to the cargo doors. "Morgan!"

"Did Morrigan change sides?" Alistair yelped, blocking and striking.

"Where _is_ Morrigan?" Bannon asked.

"Is she dead? the Antivan added.

That would be bad, too. Alistair felt a bit surprised to realize this.

"_Shit!_" Bannon yelled, which was the Wardens' universal code for 'Look out, things just got a whole lot worse.'

Then something slammed into Alistair's head, blacking out his vision in pain.

==_X_==

* * *

_End Notes:_

Morgan is a character I was thinking of developing maybe for Inquistion (if I ever got that :X). He's an elf from Orlais. You know those very rich, 'decorative' ones? He's an actor. And somewhat of a sociopath... I doubt he'd ever make an Inquisitor.


	9. Slavers

**Slavers**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Oops, took a while to get this part typed in :X And I can't think of a title.

_Recap:_

"_Shit!_" Bannon yelled, which was the Wardens' universal code for 'Look out, things just got a whole lot worse.'

Then something slammed into Alistair's head, blacking out his vision in pain.

* * *

**Slavers**

==#==

_Alistair..._ a dreamy, echoey voice called from somewhere. _Get your shield up!_

He didn't know where he was or what he was doing, but his left arm reacted with thousands of hours of training.

_Bump... Bump..._ it sounded like a boat hull nuding a dock on some lazy sunny afternoon. _CRASH!_ Something hit him and jarred him back to reality. His head hurt and his vision was blurred- _did I get shot in the eye with a crossbow bolt!?_\- but his right arm came up over his shield and smashed his attacker right between the eyes. The Tevinter guard staggered back.

"Is it snowing?" Alistair asked, blinking hard.

He didn't have time to contemplate that. Another swordsman charged him. The man was brought up short as a teen elf boy - no wait, _girl_ \- sprang onto his back and began stabbing him in the neck.

Alistair blinked again, but the fuzzy whiteness was just getting thicker. The girl had the fighter on the ground and was clumsily stabbing him as he twitched and thrashed.

Alistair stepped forward and drove his sword into the man's gut. He noticed a lot more attackers, in different armor and clothing. "Where did these guys come from?"

"The ship!" Bannon yelled in answer.

"Get behind me," Alistair told the girl, stepping further out of the line to protect her back. She scrambled over the bloody body in a half crawl, staying low. Then he backed to re-close their wall. He spit some fluffy ice off his lips. "It _is_ snowing!"

Rapidly, the air temperature dropped, and a spinning white blizzard engulfed them, leaving them at the eye of the storm. It slowed down their attackers.

Then hailstones rained down from the sky- no! Giant hail _boulders_. They crashed into the floor, splitting it - as well as a few bodies and limbs.

More crashes stomped closed from the right, a few screams cut short. Then more from the left, and the tall, horned figure of Sten stepped through the curtain of snow.

From the other side, Shale called out, "Six... _seven!_ I am winning, Horned One."

"I do not believe that is so," Sten stated.

"You've got to be kidding me," Alistair said. Then his head felt suddenly clearer.

"I hate snow!" Oghren complained, stomping up behind Sten. "Why did I wake up for this? And who started a brawl without me?" He puffed snowflakes off his moustache.

Zevran countered, "You snooze, you lose."

"Alistair!" Leliana yelled from above. He looked up to the three women at the rail. "You're late for your nuncheon!"

"Oops!" he called back with no sincerity whatsoever. "Sorry! Bit busy fighting for freedom and the Ferelden way."

Sten said, "They are retreating. Is the battle over?"

"No," Bannon yelled. "They're slavers -_ kill them all!_"

He ran forward. With battle roars, Zevran and the young elf lass followed. Alistair fell into step with Sten and Shale, while Oghren grumbled and came along behind. The freed elves with weapons joined them.

==#==

Bannon broke off and went to the nearest cage that was still locked. The elves clamored to be let out. He tried to focus on the lock, but it was difficult. "Dad?" he yelled.

"Bannon?"

"Dad!" Now he had focus. The lock sprang open and he pulled the door wide. Elves tumbled out past him.

Cyrian limped forward, his legs stiff from days spent in the cramped cage. Then he was in his son's arms. They hugged tight, but not for long. There was still more to do.

"Get home, get to Shianni," Bannon told him. "I'll come see you as soon as I can!" He turned to the final cage to spring the lock. Once that was done, he had some slavers to kill.

==#==

Wynne, Leliana, and Morrigan hurried down the steps. "Who is injured?" the old mage called. "Come into the light of my staff."

So many elves were dead. One clung to life as his friend held his hand. Wynne focused her healing magic on him first.

"Thank you," he gasped.

"Your people will help you get home. You're all safe now," she added in a louder voice. Then she cast a healing circle.

The elves grew stronger; they showered her in gratitude. Still, she could see some were yet traumatized. One young woman just sat inside the cage door, clinging to the bars, her glazed eyes fixed on the center of a large pool of blood on the floor.

"Morrigan, you look spent. Would you help these people back to their town square?"

The witch straightened. "I have enough for one more spell." She took a breath and transformed again into a giant spider.

"Leliana?" Wynne turned to the bard.

"Our leader said-" she cocked her crossbow and seated a quarrel- "'kill them all.'"

"Very well." To the elves, Wynne said, "The way back is clear. Help each other."

"I'll help them," came a voice from the balcony. Wynne turned to see the red-headed elf from the square. She rushed down and began organizing the wounded, the children, the supporters. Then she went to the stricken woman.

"Let's go," Wynne said to her companions. "Before those boys get into any more trouble." She paused to cast a warding on the three of them.

Leliana added, "May the Maker have mercy on the slavers' souls."

She and Morrigan dashed for the doorway, Wynne trotting behind.

==#==

Alistair took a deep breath. _Remember, they're more afraid of you than you are of them_, Leliana had told him. _This is it_.

He pushed the door open and strode into the dining hall, where half the nobles from morning nuncheon were waiting and demanding to be seen as promised, along with all the nobles invited for afternoon tea. Alistair still wore his armor, still dented from battle, and he stank of sweat and blood.

The gabbling crowd stopped in shock, staring at him. At least they weren't too scandalized, being Ferelden nobles and used to a warrior's life.

"Where have you been?" Lady Echia demanded.

"Killing slavers," he answered bluntly. "Slavers who were _invited_ to Denerim, to start taking people away - to Tevinter."

"Invited? By whom?"

"What proof is there?"

"There's this." Alistair produced the papers they'd found on Caladrius' corpse, and handed them to Ban Geraint.

"Is this... blood?"

"Yes. The Blood Mage Caladrius had these, granting him the right to take slaves."

"It's signed by Rendon Howe," Geraint snarled.

Bann Taft took the papers next, others crowding in to read over his shoulder. "This says elves," he noted.

Zevran had already given Alistair this answer. "They're Blood Mages of _Tevinter_. They keep human slaves as well as elves - do you think they'd stop at the Alienage once they got a foothold here?" He clenched his teeth. "And need I remind you, we are _not_ Tevinter or Anitva. The elves of Ferelden are free, just like all our citizens!"

The nobles moved back by the table, laying out the writ and examining it.

Alistair gave them some time to absorb it, then he said, "You need to think about who you want to support at the Landsmeet. I'm not going to bore you with talk about how I hope it will be me. I think actions speak for themselves." Maker, he hoped. "I apologize for missing nuncheon and tea, but refreshments will be served shortly. I need a bath." He turned and walked out.

In the hall, among his friends, he finally let his breath out. Leliana and Arl Eamon were telling him how brilliantly well he did. Then Alistair put his face in his hands and blurted, "Oh, Maker, I just told them all I was taking a bath! Now they'll be thinking about me all naked!"

Zevran patted him on the arm. "There, there. And what delightfully sinful dreams they will have over your most handsome physique."

"You're not helping," Alistair moaned.

"No? You do not feel better? Allow me to bathe with you, and I will-"

"Gah! No!"

"What? A massage will make you feel truly relaxed."

"Just, no."

Bannon said, "Next time, just tell them you're going to the garderobe. I doubt anybody will want to imagine you taking a-"

"GAH! Stop talking!" Elves! Not helpful. Alistair heaved another breath. "Well, at least I didn't have to do all that politicking while nibbling on sandwiches and sipping tea. I'd rather fight Blood Mages, slavers, and pirates any day."

He headed off to the bath.

==#==

Bannon collared Zevran when the Antivan tried to follow.

"What?" Zevran frowned at Bannon's very serious expression.

"We have to kill Howe."

"I do not disagree, but... tonight?"

Leliana interrupted them. "You can't do that."

They flinched guiltily, but then Bannon demanded, "Why not?"

"Howe is doing so well incriminating himself with his underhanded tactics, it would be a shame to stop him now." She tilted her head. "It is probably better to give him more rope with which to hang himself, yes?"

"_Si._"

"All right. But what if it just gives him time to cover his ass?"

The Chantry Sister smiled sweetly. "When a rat feels a snare closing around his neck, does he calmly grasp it and slip it over his head? No, he thrashes and only draws it tighter, faster. You will see. There will be an opportunity."

==_X_==


	10. The Viper on the Hearth

_**The Viper on the Hearth**_

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Drama  
Language: no  
Violence: a bit  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Didn't expect THIS to happen...! Hey, you remember that chapter from long, long ago, when you all got sympathetic towards Howe? Yeah, me neither. :X

* * *

**The Viper on the Hearth**

==#==

"This is untenable!" Loghain roared. "How could you be so stupid as to sign a contract with these slavers?" He paced the carpeted length of his study, while Rendon Howe sat at ease, cradling a snifter of brandy. "Half our allies are calling for your head!"

The arl had arrived at the castle at dusk, escorted by a handful of his men, and accompanied by an exotic robed woman. The Grey Wardens and their upstart kingling had raised quite a ruckus.

"Calm down," Howe said, too calmly. "You are not implicated in this so-called contract. There's no proof it is anything but a forgery by Eamon and his pet Wardens."

"That's thin."

"Really? What proof is there? Where are these supposed Tevinter slavers? Conveniently all dead. Whose word do we have? A bunch of elves, claiming slavers stole them away, not plague." He frowned sourly into his glass. "A bit more of the sickness springs up in the Alienage, no one will want anything to do with them. Another quarantine. Another Purge, perhaps a burning fire to cleanse the area."

Loghain wrinkled his lips in disgust. "They could be useful in the war."

"_Elves?_ They are a burden on society. A burden on the army. Too lazy and requiring too much manpower to oversee them. Oh." He raised a brow. "You weren't thinking about _arming_ your elves, like they have in Redcliffe?" He snorted in superior disdain. "And if you do that, how are you going to pry all those weapons out of their greedy thieving fingers once this is all over?"

Loghain was spared having to answer as Anora stormed into the room. "Father! What is _he_ doing here?"

Howe rose from his seat, and gave a bow, careful not to spill is drink. "Your majesty."

"Don't 'majesty' me!" Anora snapped at him. Then to her father, "Why is he not in chains, at Fort Drakon, right now? Consorting with slavers! It's unpardonable!"

Loghain pinched the bridge of his nose. "You don't understand."

Howe said, "These rumors are just that, Highness. All lies, I assure you."

Anora's eyes turned to the Tevinter woman lurking behind Howe's chair. "Oh, yes. I can see that." She turned to Loghain. "Father, I value your expertise as general of the Ferelden armies, but in matters of ruling, it is high time I took the throne to administrate-"

Before Loghain could argue once more about the perils of an untried ruler at the head of a besieged country, Howe barked out, "Take her!"

The woman stepped forward, raised one hand and a whip of red lightning snaked out to strike Anora. The queen collapsed with a cry, and Howe's guards rushed in to seize her.

"Anora!" Loghain drew his sword.

Howe stepped directly in front of him. "Temper, temper."

"Guards!"

For a moment, he looked to the doorway, expecting his men to come to his aid. They didn't. Howe only slowly shook his head.

Anora, looking pale, struggled to stand on her own, recovering from the magical attack. "This is treason!" she snapped. "Unhand me!"

Howe turned to her. "I'm afraid, your _majesty_, that it's too dangerous for you here in Denerim, with the seditious Wardens. You need to be moved somewhere safe."

Her eyes flashed. "Father! You're not going to put up with this?"

Loghain's fist tightened on the hilt of his sword. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't part your head from your shoulders right now."

"Amarantine. Highever. Denerim." Howe lidded his eyes, like a snake. "I command over three-quarters of Ferelden's armies. You have what? Gwaren. Maybe a few squabbling banns who haven't gone over to Eamon. I could depose you by force, but I'd much prefer to fight the darkspawn. Wouldn't you?"

"I hardly think the troops of Highever hold any true allegiance to you."

"The men follow the one who pays them. Do I need to mention I control both of Ferelden's major seaports, and... why, yes, all of the main trade routes."

Loghain looked away, feeling as if he were chewing on something bitter, indeed. "I should have listened to Bryce," he muttered.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing. You killed him."

Anora looked back and forth between both men. "You can't be serious."

"It's for the good of your country, Highness," Howe said solicitously.

"Go with him," Loghain said, sheathing his sword with heavy hand.

Anora seethed a moment. Then she drew her spine straight. "Fine." She yanked at the hands holding her wrists. Howe's guards didn't let go. "Do you intend to drag me through the streets, in chains perhaps? Or could I at least pack my things and be accompanied by my ladies in waiting?"

"Propriety is always appreciated," Howe said. He waved his hand, and the guards carefully released Anora. "Tyrea will go help you prepare. But pack lightly. Your enemies are closing in."

The guards stepped back, enough to let Anora and the mage pass through the doorway. Two of them followed the women.

Loghain growled at the snake in his den. "What is it you want, Howe?"

"I want what's coming to me. A teyrnship which is _long_ overdue. Perhaps a royal betrothal."

"If you harm my daughter-!"

"Of course _I_ wouldn't," Howe snapped. "You deal with the Grey Wardens, Eamon and his bastard puppet king, and the rest of the dissenters, while I keep Anora safely out of harm's way." He set his glass down on the side table. "Tomorrow, you will renounce these unfounded rumors about slavers, and confirm my teyrnship.

"Once this Landsmeet is settled..." He spread his hands. "we can put this unpleasantness behind us. For the sake of our friendship, I hope we can remain allies. Not become enemies."

Loghain felt the strength go out of his shoulders. He leaned heavily on the table, his eyes roving over the map of Ferelden thereon. They came to rest on Highever, and memories of Bryce Cousland flooded his mind. He closed his eyes. "Very well."

"This is why I like working with you, Loghain. You always think of the bigger picture."

==_X_==


	11. At the Well

**At the Well**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: no  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Pivotal scene. It's hard to believe we finally got here! Actually, expected to be here by the end of year one of writing... :X

* * *

**At the Well**

==#==

"Let's go outside," Zevran said to Bannon. "It is crowded in here."

"Sure."

Today had been a quiet one - compared to fighting slavers in the Alienage - but no less busy. There were more banns to meet, and all their problems to address. Teagan had arrived with the Redcliffe guards. Now the estate felt more secure.

They'd at least had a chance to pick up Bannon's new drakeskin armor, and very handsome it was, a beautiful shadow grey. Zevran had drooled, but at least it wasn't black enough for him to take it by force.

As they'd left the armorer's, some street urchin had run up to Bannon and pressed a note into his hand. "Wha-?"

"For the Grey Wardens." The kid scurried off.

"Who-?"

"What's it say?" Alistair asked with biting curiosity.

"'Wardens: it is imperative for the safety of Ferelden that you meet me in the south alley behind The Cultured Pearl at dusk, signed A Compatriot,'" Bannon read. "Translation: 'Come into our trap so we can kill you. Love, the Crows.'" He crumpled the note up and tossed it over his shoulder.

"The Crows?" Alistair looked around in concern, which is something Zevran had already been doing. "You mean, it's a trap?"

"Yeah, it's a trap."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"Should we go?"

Bannon sighed. "No, Alistair. _It's a trap_."

"Bu-u-u-ut since we know it's a trap...? We won't get trapped?"

"Alistair, the only way to keep from getting caught in a trap is to not go into the trap."

"Unless it takes place in a brothel," Zevran added. "That might be worthwhile."

"Just... no," Bannon said after a brief moment thinking. "If the Crows want to kill us, they're just going to have to work harder. We're _not_ cooperating."

"But what if someone really did need our help?" Alistair asked.

"Then they'd find a better way to ask," Bannon assured him. "Come on."

Now Bannon wondered if Zevran wanted to talk to him about the Crows. They walked to the side yard, near the well. If Zevran wanted to bolt, to flee the Crows... Bannon felt a pang of fear. He had to convince the assassin that it was safer to stay. Stay with the royally-tough-to-kill bastards who would protect him.

He was wholly unprepared when Zevran said, "I want to give you something."

"Oh you do?" Bannon smirked.

Only, Zevran wasn't being lewd. "Well, _si_. And why should I not?" he said a bit defensively. "You are always giving us gifts, like those fine Antivan leather boots. So I figured, why not return the favor?"

"All right," said Bannon, still a bit off balance.

Zevran paced off a few steps, retrieved something from his pocket. Then he returned, a bit of jewelry glinting in his grip.

He didn't give it to Bannon right away. He stared at it a moment as if lost in thought. "This," he started, turning the ring so the light caught small emerald and ruby chips. "This is... well, a bit of a trophy." Now he warmed up to his self-aggrandizing tale. "It was my first solo assignment, to slay a Rivani prince. When I came upon him in his chambers, he was wearing this earring... and little else." The corner of his lip curled in a lascivious smile.

"After our dalliance, and when I had dispatched him, I took it. A memento of my first mission as a full-fledged Crow." He shrugged with a grin. "Now I'd like you to have it.

"That's..." Bannon hesitated. Zevran wanted to give him a ring. But it was an earring. Yet still, a prize for the assassin. "It must mean a lot to you," Bannon ventured, fishing.

"What? No. Well - as a fond token of that memory, to be sure. But it was just a whim, really. Something pretty that caught my eye."

He sounded so flagrantly careless about it. A bit too much so? Was Zevran trying... to tell him something? "What does it mean?"

"Mean?" Zevran scoffed. "Why does it have to mean anything? It is a trinket. I thought you might like it. You do not like my gift? Just say so. Or at least pretend to be gracious."

"No, I am, but-"

"Take it," the assassin insisted. "Wear it if you want. Or keep it in a chest, or sell it, hock it, or give it to someone else. Throw it away if you want. It does not matter to me!"

_But I want it to matter_.

Bannon was almost certain Zevran was on the cusp of admitting... well, something. That Bannon was more than an easy lay, a matter of convenience and distraction. Or just someone Zevran wanted to keep close for protection.

Should he push for more? Or would that just push Zevran away, make him close down, withdrawing behind his defenses? If he made the wrong move, it would spell disaster for this relationship.

Zevran's eyes darkened. "Look, if you don't want the earring-"

"I do." Bannon stepped in to grasp the ring and Zevran's fingers. "But I want to make sure to properly thank my benefactor." With a subtle tug, he drew the assassin closer, and kissed him.

Just a soft, gentle kiss, lingering, but not too long.

==#==

Bannon kissed him.

And Zevran's mind went blank.

There was a clatter from the direction of the kitchens, and Zevran jerked back, one hand going to his dagger as he tensed for fight or flight. He saw a water bucket still rocking on the ground. Well, they must have scandalized someone in this insular country.

He turned back, but the thief had vanished. Zevran raised his hand to touch his lips, but stopped. They still tingled with at least the memory of Bannon's kiss.

But what did it _mean?_

==#==

Bannon had kissed him.

Zevran paced back and forth outside the dining hall. What did it mean? It was just a kiss. They'd kissed before - plenty of times. It wasn't a passionate, 'rip my clothes off and ravage me right here' kind of kiss. Still, it wasn't a quick chaste peck, either. It was _just_ a kiss.

Yet Bannon never kissed him where others might see. And they had been seen - surely that wasn't on purpose! But it was a clear probability, so why had Bannon done it?

As a thank you for the earring.

Zevran stopped, staring sightlessly at a decorative urn as his mind whirled. A thank you for the earring...

But what did that _MEAN?_

Zevran growled in frustration. Running a hand through his hair, he continued pacing.

He didn't know what it meant. All right, then fine. It was in Bannon's court, now. He would either wear it or discard it - Zevran ignored the unexpected sharp pain that thought engendered. Or, knowing him, he would hock it.

And then Zevran would have his answer. Until then, no use worrying. Right. He would carry on as usual. Whatever happened, happened. It was beyond his control. Fine. He would dust his hands off and be done fretting.

Then Wynne came bustling around the corner. "What's going on?" she asked.

Wynne might have some insight, Zevran's mind traitorously thought. But how did she know something was going on? _Brasca_, did that servant tell the whole estate that he and Bannon had been kissing? Was there a mob of outraged Fereldans coming to lynch them? Burn them at the stake? "What?"

"Anora's handmaid is here," Wynne said urgently. "Something's wrong."

"Anora?" Zevran wracked his off-balance brain. "She's like the queen or something?"

Wynne gave a huff of strained annoyance, and dragged him into the dining hall.

==_X_==

* * *

End Notes:

_Should he push for more? Or would that just push Zevran away, make him close down, withdrawing behind his defenses? If he made the wrong move, it would spell disaster for this relationship._

I swear, I sat on this dialogue screen for LITERALLY (and i mean non-figuratively) for at LEAST fifteen minutes! In fact, I didn't sit, I got up and paced.

Is he trying to say something? What's he trying to say? Should Bannon push it? Does he need a push? Will he get pushed away? If he's not pushed, will he run away? WHAAA!?

At long last, my roleplaying buddies got their revenge - after all my characters with issues they had to delicately deal with, now it was my turn! ARGH! (aka: so fun!)

now some of you zevran purists out there think that NOT pushing zevran is a mistake. well. fine. :P but bannon has a better idea...

(oh wait... did i just hear a scream... coming from somewhere in the vicinity of slovakia...?)


	12. The Planning Session

**The Planning Session**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: no  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

All right, chapter-long party banter! I had this stuck on the end of the previous chapter, but... um... I had to split it, for some reason. I'm sure it was a good one.

_Recap:_

_"Anora's handmaid is here," Wynne said urgently. "Something's wrong."_

_"Anora?" Zevran wracked his off-balance brain. "She's like the queen or something?"_

_Wynne gave a huff of strained annoyance, and dragged him into the dining hall._

* * *

**The Planning Session**

==#==

"Zevran and I," Bannon was saying, "will go in from the Alienage side and through the servants' entrance. No one will suspect a couple of elven servants."

"You won't have any armor or weapons," Alistair protested.

"We'll put them in a crate and carry it with us." Bannon pointed a finger at the dubious Templar. "No one ever stops an elf carrying a box."

"The two of you can't go in there alone."

"Why not? Look, I know the layout of the estate. I've been there before."

Leliana said, "You were there under the old arl. We don't know - Howe may have brought all his own servants. Or with the plague and the Purge, perhaps he has no elven servants there at all. Then you would be highly noticeable."

"We could sneak in under cover of darkness," Zevran said. "Who are we trying to kill?"

"No one!" the group chorused.

Bannon and Leliana sat at one side of the table, across from a porcelain-skinned, dark-haired woman. Eamon sat at the head of the table, while Alistair and Teagan stood behind the woman. Sten and Shale loomed near the doorway, and at the opposite wall lurked Morrigan.

"What's going on?" Wynne asked. She moved to sit at the table as well, while Zevran preferred to stand.

Alistair said, "This is Erlina." He indicated the nervous woman. "She's one of Anora's Ladies, who Anora sent to get help because Howe is keeping her prisoner."

"Supposedly," Bannon added.

"Do you think everything is a trap?" Alistair complained.

"That's why I'm still alive," Bannon shot back.

"I don't know what else to do to convince you," Erlina cried.

Leliana said to Bannon, "What if I accompany you? As a kitchen wench, perhaps?"

"I must go, too," the Lady insisted.

"Can't I go as one of Howe's guards?" Alistair asked.

"No," said Leliana, Bannon, and Arl Eamon.

The Denerim elf added, "Alistair, if this is a trap, it's meant for you. Once Howe gets you inside his estate, you're through. What did I tell you about traps? Don't go into them."

"But you are!" the Chantry boy whined. "Why do any of us have to go?"

Eamon said, "We can't risk doing nothing. If we help Anora... she'd be a powerful ally."

"Why don't Zevran and I," Bannon said, "go in the back, while the Chantry pays a visit through the front gate? Leliana and Erlina can pose as Sisters. Wynne could, too," he added, nodding to the mage. "You'll keep them distracted, and if things get hairy, you'll be there to back us up."

Morrigan said, "I could go, as well."

Leliana twisted in her seat. "You as a Chantry nun? I'd love to see that."

"Deception isn't difficult."

"Don't the Sisters need a guard?" Alistair tried.

"No!"

Bannon rubbed his face. "Alistair, if you want to help, have a parade."

"Do what now?"

"Yeah! March down to the market and give a speech. That will distract Howe and all his guards."

"Sp-Sp-Spu-Spubbuh- SPEECH!?" The Templar's face went pale. "I'll need Leliana for that!"

"We need her for the Chantry ruse."

Leliana tapped her chin in thought. "A marketplace speech could rally support for you, Alistair."

"Or- make everybody realize that I'm a babbling idiot. Shut up, Morrigan."

"I get tired of stating the obvious, anyway."

"Take Sten and Shale, that will impress people, and keep you safe if Howe tries anything," Bannon said. "And Oghren," he added quickly.

"Look, we have our guards," Alistair said, gesturing to Teagan. "Why don't we all have a parade and storm Howe's gates?"

Teagan said, "We can't attack another arl. The whole civil war will start up again, and we'd have bloodshed in the streets."

"We need stealth and subtlety," Bannon said. "Which leads us back to just me and Zevran with a box."

Everybody groaned.

"I _must_ go with you," Erlina insisted.

To which Bannon replied, "You're not going. The guards would surely recognize you."

"But I must! Queen Anora won't know Howe didn't send you as some sort of trick."

"Look, if we get in there, and she suddenly decides not to be rescued..." Bannon scowled.

Leliana leaned forward towards the woman. "Don't worry, I will fashion a disguise for you. A bit of powder for your hair, some stage makeup, and a bit of stoop to your spine - even your own parents wouldn't recognize you."

Erlina nodded. "Then I will be another servant."

"With a guard," Alistair added.

"We can't! The whole point of a small team is to be unobtrusive," Bannon said. "Not a whole big crowd."

"You can't all go in there unarmed!"

Zevran said, "Let us take Sten. Perhaps," he added, forestalling any arguments, "we are from Howe's late unlamented slavers with a message from Tevinter. Sten is exotic - and imposing - enough to get us through."

Bannon mused on that. "That's a good idea. Sten, if people ask, can you tell them you're from Tevinter with an important delivery for Howe?"

"The Qun is against deception."

The elf frowned. "This is military strategy."

"It is not my way."

"Your way sucks," Bannon muttered in frustration.

"The Qun is wise in all things! It is the way things should be."

Bannon threw his hands up. "When are you going to realize that reality doesn't follow neat little rules, and people don't fit into neat little boxes? The world is chaos, and you need to be flexible and adapt to every situation."

"The qunari and their ways are superior to your... chaos," the giant growled.

"Really? Because as a warrior, you can't even cook or clean or mend. If some plague came and wiped out all the qunari cooks, you'd all starve to death!"

"That is an oversimplification. The Tamassrans assign a life path to each individual, as best suits him."

Leliana tried to intercede, but Bannon ignored her signal to stop. "I get that a big burly kid would make a good warrior. But what if he wants to be a bard, instead? Maybe he can't be as good as a kid with a naturally sweet voice and dexterous fingers, but at least he'd be happier doing what he truly wants, not just what he'd be best at. And that bard might be happier being a farmer."

"Happy?"

"Yeah, you know, happiness?" Bannon eyed him. "After food, shelter, and a job to make sure you have money to keep those things, it's the greatest driving force in a person's life!"

Zevran snorted. "The qunari do not even know how to love and mate until their superiors tell them when and how to do it."

Sten frowned, his brow creased deeply beneath his horns.

Finally, Leliana managed a word. "Now is not the time for religious debate."

"I will do it," said Shale from the corner.

"I don't know, Shale," Bannon said.

"Why not? Am I not as exotic and imposing as The Horned One? Even moreso, I should think."

"Yes, but the problem is, you're unique. Everybody knows you're with the Wardens."

Shale said, "I will lie to these fools, and if they don't believe me, I will simply squish them."

"That's a good idea, Shale, but the opposite of what 'stealth' means. If a bunch of guards wind up dead, we'll just end up with more guards coming after us."

"I will squish them all."

"That's... fine for you," Bannon allowed. "But not so much for those of us who are not indestructible."

"I'll go," Oghren said next. "What, didja forget I was here? Blasted giant furniture."

Zevran stood up on tiptoes, and yes, now he saw that the pushed-out chair wasn't empty. "Do they have dwarves in Tevinter?" he asked.

"I dunno," Bannon said. "But who'd want to argue with him? Dwarves can be... stubborn."

"Heh," Oghren agreed.

"All right, do we all know the plan?"

Everyone started talking at once.

==_X_==


	13. Rescuing Anora

**Rescuing Anora**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

In an effort not to 'save' chapters for posting, this is being posted the same day as the last (very short) chapter. Which was delayed a month, so... well... anyway. Onward!

* * *

**Rescuing Anora**

==#==

Morrigan circled the Arl of Denerim's estate, the midday sun warm on her back. Alistair and his assortment of odd warriors had casually entered the market to the north. The fool was gathering a crowd, eagerly telling stories of the Grey Wardens. If they eased in to asking questions about the kingship he might do all right.

Although it wasn't a military presence, per se, it attracted the attention of Howe's guards, made them nervous. None thought to question the appearance of the three Chantry Sisters, with local concerns the church wanted to discuss with the arl.

Meanwhile, the elves had managed to talk their way past the two guards at the back gate. One had elected to escort them to the servants' entrance.

Morrigan landed on a roof peak. She could circle lower to gain brief glimpses inside the upper rooms, but that might start to attract unwanted attention. If the elves or women inside got into any serious trouble, they would try to break a window. Then Morrigan would know to summon help.

She cocked her head towards the market. Alistair was really getting into his story, progressing past arm gestures to actually striding about like a stage player acting out various battles. And clearly not paying attention. Oh well. If she had to, she could get it back with her own dramatics. Swooping in and pecking his head, for example. Or maybe she could poop on him. A little crude, perhaps ,but so very, very tempting.

Morrigan hopped along the roof and glided to the west side. The elves had gotten in, and the guard had not come out.

She turned to a tree in the front yard. This should be closest to where Howe would be meeting with the Chantry representatives. Morrigan gave three hearty caws, then flew off to another tree at the other side of the estate and did so again, just to be thorough.

==#==

Leliana was justly proud of her makeup job on Erlina. Though the young handmaid was nervous, no one recognized her.

Arl Howe was indisposed, they were informed. The seneschal met them in the drawing room. He was clearly out of his depth with the various obscure workings of the church that Leliana proposed to him. He suggested they might make an appointment with the arl for a later date. Leliana just crinkled her nose at him and insisted they'd be happy to have a spot of tea and wait.

Leliana noted Morrigan's signal, but Erlina was only nervously wringing her hands. It wasn't good for the painted age spots and wrinkles Leliana had put on with such care to detail, so the bard reached over and stilled them. "Sister Gracianious, do you need to use the garderobe?"

"I - Uh - I mean, yes, Sister."

Leliana smiled at the seneschal and asked him the directions. Erlina left, and Leliana said, "She's a bit shy." She smiled a bit more, and tried to gauge if a touch more salaciousness would lead him to keep them there longer, or turn them out all the faster.

==#==

Zevran thought it might have been better to sneak up on the two gate guards and dispatch them. However, that might have been tricky, as there were more on the inside. And the roaming guards might have noticed.

As it was, they'd left one guard at the gate. They'd met the roaming guard and their escort ordered him to cover his post. That effectively left it safer for their escape. Their escort was not going to live to return to patrol or the gate, not if the elves could help it.

Bannon had assured Zevran they would stop in this thing called a mud room. Why Fereldans would need a room for storing mud, he would probably never know. The important thing was it was closed off from both the kitchen and the yard, and would have space to hide a body.

There was another guard outside the servants' entrance. Timing would be tricky.

They got inside this mudroom and before the guard could open the inner door, Bannon snapped, "Would you _stop!_"

The guard turned back.

"Me?" Zevran growled. "What did I do?"

They set the chest down to better argue. Bannon closed the outer door. Zevran jumped the escort who was closing in to admonish them, and stuck a dagger in his throat.

They dumped the body in a wooden bin by the side wall, and they weren't too quiet about it. Zevran frowned at the lack of stealthy finesse, but Bannon only unlatched the outer door and called, "Hey! Hey, could you give us a hand in here?"

The guard rolled his eyes and came inside to meet his doom. His body went into the bin as well.

"Take off your shirt," Bannon said. "Turn it inside out."

Zevran complied. He hadn't made the neatest kill. "Can't we put on our armor?"

"Past the kitchens." Bannon listened at the inner door, but relaxed. No one was coming. "You know, I killed my first shem right here."

"Oh?" Zevran pulled his shirt back on. "You always remember you first," he said with a grin. Was that a tinge of red in Bannon's ears? Zevran grinned all the more.

They bluffed their way past the kitchen with only a passing "Where are you going with that?" from the cook.

"It's for Arl Howe and his guests."

"What guests?"

Bannon rolled his eyes. "Not 'guests.' '_Guests._'"

The man blinked. "Oh."

Nobles were all the same. And why did they need so many rooms? Zevran and Bannon ducked into one to put on their armor. "This is where Howe paid me," Zevran mused, looking around.

"Nice. Come on."

They met a lanky old woman with a huge pot belly out in the hall. "There you are," she said. "My Lady is this way."

Zevran blinked. Leliana had outdone herself.

They passed the open archway to the entry hall. Fortunately, the guards were all facing the other way.

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" one asked, peering past the shrubbery outside the window.

"I don't know. Maybe another drill?"

Erlina led them past the stairs into another hall. "Here, this... oh dear."

There was a red glow covering one of the doors, a circle of runes at the center. Erlina ran to it, but didn't touch it. "My lady!"

"Shh!" Bannon warned.

Zevran moved to the other end of the hall, checking for guards, or unfortunate servants who might spot them.

The queen's voice came from within, muffled by the door. "Erlina... be careful, they put a ward on the door."

"I've brought the Grey Wardens, Milady. What shall we do?"

"Howe's Blood Mage ensorcelled the door."

"Howe has a Blood Mage?" Bannon asked, joining Erlina at the door. "Great."

"You must kill the Blood Mage."

"Where is he?" Bannon asked.

"Well how should I know? I'm locked inside a closed room!"

"Yeah, all right. What about the window?"

"Of course they put me in a ground floor room with a window that has easy access to the yard, and didn't bother to secure it. Why do you think I'm still here?"

Bannon looked heavenward.

Zevran remarked, "She sounds charming."

The Denerim elf gave him a biting look. To the door, he said, "Did they say anything useful that might give us a clue?"

"The mage will need more blood. Howe said he has some prisoners."

"In the dungeon, no doubt," Zevran said.

"Great, I haven't been there."

"We'll have to improvise," Zevran said. "One of the doors we passed in the front hall looked secure enough to lead to a dungeon."

"Erlina," Bannon said, "get back to Leliana and Wynne before they start sending someone to look for you."

"But... my Lady."

"You can stay a few more minutes, but we will probably take longer. We'll get her out, but we can't be discovered."

Zevran told her, "If someone comes, pretend to touch the door, then fall to the ground. Tell them you were curious about the runes." He followed Bannon back the way they'd come.

The heavy oak door was locked, and Bannon set to work, but almost immediately stood back. Before Zevran could ask what the problem was, the door swung inward. Wow, his lover had extremely fast hands.

The thief darted forward with his dagger and thrust it into the throat of the guard that was just emerging. The man barely let out a squeak, but then tumbled down the stairs in a series of bumps and thuds. The elves leapt down after him, landing softly as cats. Fortunately, no one had seen or heard the guard fall, but they needed to hurry now.

They rounded a corner and met two guards coming the other way. One gave a shout, then the fight was joined. Compared to the elves, the shems were slow and clumsy, and got in each other's way.

Bannon kicked his opponent in the groin, then slashed open his neck when his hands dropped. Zevran was going to have to steal that move! Not to be outdone, he drove his mark back, then finished him off with a whirling decapitation.

"We," he crowed, "are ridiculously awesome!"

Blades still wet with blood, they charged around another corner. Here were the cells, dark and... empty? Bannon came to a sudden halt and Zevran nearly ran into him. "Wh-?"

Then he heard it, a weak voice calling weakly, "Warden..."

Who was down here that knew Bannon? "We don't have time-" the assassin started, too late.

"Who are you?" Bannon asked as he went to the cell door and examined the lock. Surely the heavy mechanism was too large for his picks.

"My name is Riordan. I came with the contingent of Wardens from Orlais."

"There's a whole contingent of Wardens here?" Bannon asked eagerly. Having nothing else at hand, he jammed one of his daggers into the lock.

The man snorted. "We were attacked at the border. I was... the only one to survive. They dragged me back here."

The dagger made a horrid screeching sound, then there was a _pop!_ The cell door swung open. A gaunt human, painted with brands and whip scars, emerged from the shadows, stooped and limping.

Zevran judged him no good for a fight. Bannon came to the same conclusion. "We need to find Howe, and his Blood Mage. Wait here until we return."

"_Non, mes amis_. I must be away while I can. But give me a blade."

Bannon gave him his off-hand sword. "Turn left at the top of the stairs. There's no guard outside the kitchen door."

Riordan took the sword and limped back the way they'd come.

Bannon took a moment to examine the damage to his dagger. Zevran said, "Do you have some sort of magical power over locks? Or do you always get your way whenever you stick your iron-hard shaft in a tight little hole?"

The thief smirked. "It's all in the-"

"Bannon!"

The elves whirled to the far cell. _Bannon sure is popular in this dungeon, especially for never having been here before_, Zevran thought, a bit jealous.

"Soris?" Bannon rushed over, jammed the shaft into the lock. "What are you doing here?"

"I was arrested for Vaughn's murder, in case you forgot! Where in the Blackened City have you been?"

"I... was..." The thief seemed tongue-tied. The lock sprang open with a clunk and the hinges squeaked with rust.

An elf, barely in better shape than Riordan, with a mop of red hair, staggered out. He didn't seem happy to have been rescued. "I've been waiting! You were so fired up to charge in here and rescue the women, I figured you would come get me in no time!"

"I... That... Well-"

"We don't have time for this," Zevran broke in.

Bannon gathered himself. "Soris, I'm sorry. Go back with Riordan."

The redhead looked about to argue, then gave up and headed out.

With that hair, Zevran quickly surmised he must be related to Shianni. So, that cousin of Bannon's who had gone with him on the estate's invasion. Interesting.

A callous voice said, "Do what you want with the blond. Bring the other one to me." Howe and three of his guards had come up on them during this little rescue.

Zevran met the shem's sneer with a wicked grin of his own. "You haven't paid me enough for that!"

He and Bannon sprang forward, eager for a fight. Howe's guards faltered in their charge - they must only be used to Purges, never having seen an armored elf ready to fight back. The thief and assassin crashed recklessly into the men, much as Bannon had charged Zevran when they'd first met. Zevran bared his teeth with the predatory thrill. He hacked with wild abandon, determined to _hurt_ his foes, in any and every way.

He shoved his opponent towards the third man, trying to lure that one into flanking him, not Bannon, since the thief had given up one of his swords.

It worked, and suddenly, he was parrying and striking on two fronts. He drew them back, feigning weakness, away from Bannon and his opponent.

==#==

Bannon's all-out attack had put the guard on the defense, and he seemed quite content to stay there, making it hard to score a hit on him. The thief ground his teeth. They needed to finish this quickly and take out that damned mage. He heard that shem arl arguing with a woman, something about wards. Good! If the mage was too occupied with that, they were in less danger.

In frustration at his opponent's defensive stance, Bannon used his dagger to stab the man in the hand. He cried out and dropped the blade. Bannon closed in mercilessly, with a slash to the head, a dagger to the neck as the man ducked. He stabbed at a soft point in the armor, followed with a kick to the groin to put his enemy down; then he whirled and darted to Zevran's opponents. He slashed low from behind, crippling one.

Then his next stab went awry as something clobbered him in the side of the head. He staggered aside, trying to turn. That bastard Howe had snuck up and blindsided him!

==#==

"Better watch out, _putos_," Zevran growled. "Get too much blood on your, and your Blood Mage will use you as a walking bomb."

The one at his right reeled back, his fear of Blood Magic outweighing the loyalty to his arl. The one at his left couldn't move as quickly, not after Bannon's strike to his leg. Zevran darted in and slashed at his face. Perhaps not a killing blow, but it put him out of the fight.

Just then, the blood painting Zevran's skin and armor burst into red flame. He grinned through the pain. "Now we all die! He leapt at the last guard, who jumped away; then he dove into a roll and came up at the feet of the mage and shoved a blade through her belly. Not one to risk a Blood Mage's death spell, he thrust his other sword into her heart.

There was blood aplenty; the spray helped douse the flames. Zevran shook drops from his face as he turned. He licked his lips clean and glared at the last guard. "Shall we dance?"

==#==

Howe was a tough, wily bastard. Bannon didn't have a lot of experience fighting against an axe-wielder. The ones he had met had large battle-axes and were relatively slow and clumsy. Deadly if met head on, so he tended to sneak up behind them. Howe's was a smaller, single-bladed weapon that he used almost like a short sword.

Bannon couldn't parry the axe head, it was too heavy. If he parried the haft, he risked the blade getting past his guard, as well as getting disarmed if it hooked against his sword. He ended up catching most of the blows on his arms. The Arl was systematically shredding his leathers, with perverse delight.

He tried to maneuver around to Howe's off side, but the human wouldn't let him. He kept pushing Bannon, forcing him down the hallway, away from Zevran. Bannon jumped back, trying to get a moment to re-assess this fight, come up with a strategy.

"Aren't you precious," the shem sneered at him. "Another uppity knife-ears who needs to be purged. Just like your sister!"

Howe was clearly trying to provoke him. Unfortunately, it worked. Bannon didn't have a sister, but Shianni sprang readily to mind, her suffering at the hands of the Bann of this estate rolled into the history of Howe's Purge and quarantine, the Tevinter slavers. Plus the raw memory of Soris' battered body. All the way back to his mother's murder.

With a roar, he attacked. Howe flung out his off hand and caught Bannon in the face with a handful of dungeon muck and straw, momentarily blinding him. He tried to change direction, but he was overcommitted.

Howe moved aside, avoiding Bannon's clumsy lunge. He swung his axe and rattled the elf's skull with the flat of it.

Tears burning, ears ringing, Bannon fetched up against the wall and pushed off, twisting to dodge another blow. Howe dogged him, swinging the axe. It cracked against his knee, cut into his leg. With a cry, the elf fell to the grimy floor.

He rolled, trying to anticipate the next strike, trying to dodge it, to get away. The axe slammed into his spine, his weapon harness and armor preventing a deep cut, but doing nothing to stop the brunt of the force. Bannon cried out again, in pain and fear. Howe had a clear shot at his back. Where was Zevran? "Zevran!"

He knew better than to count on anyone else but himself, but his options were limited.

"Die you piece of -!"

There was an incoherent scream, cutting off Howe's venomous words. Then the slam of body on body, more screaming, steel ringing.

Bannon rolled over stiffly, wiping at his eyes. There was a blinding flash of reflected light, then the shem was falling back, sliding from Zevran's crimson-stained sword. He collapsed in a pool of quickly spreading blood.

Howe coughed wetly, blood drooling from his lips. His lips curled in an angry sneer as he realized he was already dead. "I..." he hacked, "deserved... more!"

"Yes, you did," snapped Zevran, jamming his sword down again into the human's gut. He yanked it back out again. "But I don't have time for more than this." He spun his blades to shed blood from them, then darted to Bannon's side. "You're hurt. How bad is it?"

"I'll be fine. _Ow!_" Zevran had gripped his leg. "Maker, I hope."

"This will require a tight bandage." Zevran cast about and came up with one of the guard's belts. He wrapped it around Bannon's leg while the Denerim elf gulped a small vial of healing potion.

"We don't have time to slow down." Bannon grabbed Zevran's shoulder to lever himself up. "Howe could be missed at any moment."

The assassin helped him limp to the dungeon's back stairs.

==_X_==


	14. Captured

**Captured**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

The plan went something like this... Morrigan, as a raven, is circling the estate; Leliana, Wynne, and Erlina went inside as Chantry Sisters, the latter having rendesvoused with the elves, who snuck in the back. Alistair is in the market with everyone else, causing a distraction.

* * *

**Captured**

==#==

This was fun. Alistair couldn't give a speech to save his life, but story-telling, now that was a different, well, story. He didn't care about garnering support for the kingship, but he did care about rallying people to Grey Wardens' cause.

He was reminded of Bannon's idea of a warrior who'd prefer to be a bard. Maybe that was Alistair. Or, since they weren't qunari, he could just do both.

Just as he was getting to the ogre at the Tower of Ishal, there was a large commotion in the market. Everyone turned to see - and get out of the way of - a contingent of Loghain's guards. Alistair tensed, getting ready to call his comrades to arms, but the soldiers passed by without so much as a sneer in his direction.

Well, that was... good? Wasn't it?

No, they were marching on the Arl of Denerim's estate. This was bad, very bad!

Alistair looked towards the sky, and waved his arms, gesticulating and panicking.

==#==

Like Morrigan couldn't see the disaster approaching. They hadn't worked out a signal for 'get the hell out, Loghain's army is attacking,' so she just flew around the mansion, cawing a general alarm.

==#==

Leliana shared a concerned glance with Wynne. Something had Morrigan in a frenzy, and it couldn't be good. "Sister Lucretia, perhaps you should go check on Sister Gracianious. She may have gotten lost again."

Just then, a guard burst in. "Ser! Where is Arl Howe? Loghain's troops are at the gate!"

Leliana jumped up. "We must find Sister Gracianious and leave at once!"

"No, Sister," the seneschal said. "You can't leave during a battle."

"There's a battle?" Wynne exclaimed.

Leliana said, "Nonsense. No one would harm the Maker's handmaidens. We shall pass through under a flag of truce."

"I can't allow that. Please, Sister, I must attend to this crisis quickly! I beg you stay here." He ushered the guard into the hall. "The arl is downstairs..."

==#==

Bannon worked on the lock now that the magical ward had been removed from Anora's door. "Erlina, you should return to the others."

"But my Lady."

"This will work best if you don't blow our cover."

The handmaid went to the door. "My Lady, what should I do?"

"You should go, Erlina. It will be safest."

"As you wish." But before leaving, she reached down her robes and pulled out her pot-belly stuffing. "This is a disguise for my Lady."

Bannon got the door open. "Hurry."

Erlina scurried off while Anora shrugged on the clothing. In a minute, she came out dressed in a stained cotton shift, with a ratty shawl draped over her head.

"You're disguised as a drudge?" Zeran remarked. "Best not to let anyone see your delicate, unblemished hands."

The queen looked about to retort, when Erlina raced back from the front hall. "They're attacking!"

"_Who_ is attacking?" Bannon demanded. "And who is it they're attacking?"

"It's Ser Cauthrien!"

"Who?"

Anora supplied, "My father's lieutenant."

==#==

"You have no right to come in here, in force, and attack the arl's estate!"

"General Loghain MacTir has every right to wrest his daughter - _Queen Anora_ \- from Howe's traitorous clutches!"

"Loghain is not king. And even if he were, the king has no right to attack his vassals!"

Bannon and Zevran eased back from the corner of the hall. "Well, this is one crowded rescue," the thief complained.

The assassin snorted. "We were here first."

Bannon turned to the queen. "Well, your highness, looks like you have your pick of rescuers. Are you going to run off with your father's men and leave us here to get caught and executed?"

"Is there any way we can escape them?" she asked.

"Well, Howe's and Loghain's guards are blocking the front hall and entryway, but..." Bannon got a canny look on his face. "The other dungeon door is past there." He turned to the others. "We can go back down, cut across, and come up on the other side."

"They sent a guard to fetch Arl Howe," Erlina said, wringing her hands.

"Shit! Zevran, kill him."

"At once."

"Then take Anora to Arl Eamon's estate."

The women were already scurrying for the door down the hall, but Zevran lingered. "What about you?"

"I'll distract them." Bannon limped back to the corner.

"What about afterward? How are you-?"

"Zevran, just go. _Now!_"

"I will not leave-"

Bannon whirled on him. "This is a direct order! You _swore_ your loyalty to me, now obey, before we're all fucked!" He shoved him, hard, and Zevran backpedalled. He couldn't leave Bannon.

He had to.

"As you wish, _mi patrone_." He ran to the door where the women waited. Behind them, a woman's voice yelled out.

"Ser Cauthrien! Stand down, at once!"

Anora gasped and looked back. Zevran smirked at Bannon's no end of tricks. "Move, highness," he encouraged her coldly. "You had better be worth this."

==#==

"Milady...? Queen Anora?" The lieutenant sounded confused. "Is that you?"

"Of course it is I! You go tell my father that if he wants me to leave the protection of Arl Howe, he had better well come himself!

"I can't do that, your highness."

"I am your Queen!" Bannon shouted back in a classic imitation of a royal hissy fit. He hoped Zevran was hurrying.

After their initial shock, the guards all sprang back into action. One of Howe's guards got the brilliant idea to grab Anora as hostage, and Loghain's troops fell on them with a vengeance.

Bannon knifed the completely confused guard when he came around the corner and found no queen. He made sure to get a lot of the guard's blood on him, then lay on the floor, acting more wounded than he was. At least everyone's attention was focused on this end of the hall, and not the other.

In another moment, a handful of Loghain's guards came charging around the corner, led by a woman. "Milady?" Ser Cauthrien took in the scene quickly.

"Madmen!" Bannon exclaimed. "They're madmen! They took the queen upstairs! If you hurry, you might still catch them."

The guards charged past him, but then Ser Cauthrien yelled, "Hold it!" She pointed her sword at Bannon. "You're a Grey Warden." So much for hiding that. "Where is Queen Anora?"

"Upstairs, I tell you! She's not in that room!"

Ser Cauthrien directed her men to batter down the door. Luckily, they didn't try the knob, because Bannon hadn't thought to relock it. He hoped Zevran was high-tailing it back to the Alienage. This ruse wouldn't last long.

The door cracked and flew open. The guards boiled inside and began tossing the room as if Anora might be hiding under the cushions or something. "Ser, she's not here!"

The lieutenant glared down at Bannon. "_Where_ is the queen?"

"I _told you_ she wasn't in there!"

Cauthrien growled. "Split up!" she ordered her men. "Scour the estate - stay in pairs. Secure the exits."

"Ser, the arl will be regrouping his troops."

She swore. "Get up," she snapped at Bannon.

"Well, I would, of course. But you see, those fiends who kidnapped Anora nearly cleaved my leg off."

For a moment, she looked as if she was about to cleave his head off as well. She refrained. "Bring him," she snarled. "Make sure he's disarmed."

Bannon held up his hands in surrender, but that didn't stop the burliest guard from punching him in the face. Apparently, they were serious about disarming him of both blades and fists. He didn't have to feign wooziness and disorientation as they hauled him to his feet. He allowed himself to go limp and be dragged out.

==#==

Zevran watched as Eamon and Teagan escorted Anora to a room they had prepared for their royal guest. _You had better be worth this_, he thought viciously at Ferelden's queen, and not for the first time.

He joined Alistair in the dining hall, pacing fretfully.

At last, Leliana rushed in, along with a breathless Wynne. "Bannon's been captured!"

"What?" yelped Alistair. "No no no no no, this can't be happening!

Zevran's heart stuttered as similar thoughts raced through his mind. _No!_ he snapped at them. 'Captured' was not 'killed.' Though of course there was always the chance of execution, perhaps after interrogation and torture. He shook the nightmarish images from his mind, locked them deep in their own dungeon. "Where are they keeping him?"

"Loghain's men took him. Morrigan is following them."

Well, it would be too much to ask for them to just throw Bannon into the dungeon at the Denerim estate. "_Brasca!_ If they take him to the palace..."

"Or worse," Alistair said, "to Fort Drakon."

"What is Fort Drakon? And how is it worse?'

"It's a huge tower. And a prison."

"Perhaps it is not too late to intercept them." Zevran paced again, more rapidly. "Surely they've discovered Howe is dead by now. So soon after Loghain attacked him, hopefully it is clear who is to blame."

Leliana said, "That might work to Loghain's advantage. Many of the banns were calling for Howe's head. Still, things might be in an uproar at the castle, as Loghain hastes to 'explain' what is going on. In the chaos, we should strike."

"Well, I'm not staying behind this time," Alistair insisted.

Just then, Morrigan rushed in, her hair and feather decorations a bit bedraggled. "They've taken him north, to a huge tower." She grabbed a pitcher and poured herself a glass of water.

"Fort Drakon," Alistair confirmed. "This is bad."

"Actually, it is good," Leliana said. "Loghain saw us all at the palace. There may be some guards at the Fort who don't yet know us."

"Leliana," Wynne said, "you should work with Queen Anora and Arl Eamon. I'll represent the Mages' Circle making a delivery to the fort."

"And I'm your Templar!"

"If you can find the proper uniform," Wynne allowed cautiously.

"I'll go get my skirts!" Alistair dashed off.

Wynne turned to Morrigan. "Are you up for this?"

The witch shook her head.

"I will go," said Shale.

The old mage turned to him. "Will you pretend to be a golem in service to a mage?"

"Yes," said Shale, barely hesitating. "For you, I will."

"Good. Thank you, Shale."

"I would also like to try this 'lying' again.'

"Lying?" Wynne's brow furrowed. "Have you been lying, Shale?"

"No, I have not." The golem's stone face lit up with a smile. "Hah! Am I not getting good at this?"

Wynne pressed a hand to her face.

Zevran said, "I do not think we should take Shale. It is too well-known that the Wardens have a golem."

"Leliana said the guards at the tower might not have seen him with us."

"It is a chance. I am not willing to take that big of a chance in this." Zevran lowered his brows at the old woman.

She met his glare face-on. "If we do not take Shale, we will be less capable should we have to resort to a fight." Then she nodded once in concession. "Yet, there may also be a smaller chance of getting into a fight."

Zevran chewed it over. "You believe you can convince the guards this is not the Wardens' golem?"

"Yes. We mages have some clout when it comes to the rare and unique."

"Very well. But if we do have to fight our way out, Bannon and I may have to leave you behind and disappear into the streets."

She nodded. "Understood."

"Very well."

==#==

Alistair returned wearing a templar tabard and skirts over his mail. "Hey, Zevran... I was hoping the armorer would let me borrow a bucket helmet. Will you go with me to ask him?"

"Of course, Alistair. I think I can persuade him on your behalf."

"Great! Let's hurry."

They managed to avoid Herren, which would have made this transaction ten times as difficult. Wade held a bucket helm in his hands - _not_ his work, he insisted - as he contemplated just giving it to them.

"We'll just need it for the afternoon," Alistair cajoled. "If anything happens to it, I promise, we'll pay in full."

"But why do you need it?"

"Uhhh..." Alistair faltered. "It's for a good cause, but... it's kinda a secret."

Zevran just leaned in. "We're going to play Templar and Apostate," he said in a conspiratorial tone.

A sly smile spread across Wade's face. Without another word, he slid the helm over to Zevran.

"_Grazie_." He and Alistair hurried from the shop.

"I don't want to know what that meant, do I?" Alistair asked.

"You're catching on." Zevran shoved the helm at him. "Put that on, Chantry boy."

==_X_==

* * *

End Notes:

_"Well, Howe's and Loghain's guards are blocking the front hall and entryway, but..." Bannon got a canny look on his face. "The other dungeon door is past there." He turned to the others. "We can go back down, cut across, and come up on the other side."  
_\- You know, that seemed a reasonable escape route to me in the game, but... the game didn't allow it!


	15. Rescuing Bannon

**Rescuing Bannon**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

I don't know. I don't think I can top the in-game rescue plans ;) Captain inspired by a scene from _Titan A.E._

Sorry it's so short.

* * *

**Rescuing Bannon**

==#==

Wynne led the way through the streets, with her Templar escort, and mismatched golem and elven servants. She bustled along with a bit of a scowl, a Senior Enchanter on a mission. No one dared get too close or do more than gawk at them. Finally, they passed the market district and well-to-do quarter, and the streets grew less crowded.

"You know, Alistair... I find it hard to believe you still have your Templar uniform. Have you been carrying it around this whole time?"

"Yep."

Wynne pursed her lips. "But I thought you and Bannon escaped the Korcari Wilds with little more than the clothes on your backs."

"Very little."

He was being unusually close-mouthed. Wynne couldn't see his face in that helm, to see if he were joking or being cheeky with her. "Hrm. But why do you still have it?"

"Well, I am a Templar."

"I thought you left the Order."

"Yeah, but they didn't exactly ask for their uniform back, now did they?"

Zevran said, "Perhaps he just likes wearing dresses." At least he'd come out of his simmering anger long enough to show some of his usual, annoying, spirit.

"They're very comfortable. You should try them," Alistair shot back. "_Long_ ones, I mean," he added before the Antivan could point out the short armor kilt he usually wore. "Besides, they're nice and soft and snuggly - what do you think I've been using for a pillow all this time?"

Wynne shot a look at Zevran to see if he was buying this. The elf shook his head, his expression indicating that he didn't care. The mage also shook the thought out of her mind. "Honestly, if you don't want to talk about it, just say so. Let's concentrate on the mission."

==#==

They arrived at the Fort Drakon gate, and a young soldier hurried out to intercept them. "Sorry, Madame Mage," he stammered, staring up at Shale instead of looking at Wynne. "State your business?"

"I am here with a delivery from the Mage's Circle."

"We already had a delivery of healing potions today."

"And you should be grateful. It's not easy toiling away all day making those things."

"We weren't expecting another delivery," he said, in that half-questioning tone.

"And neither were we! Why, I have enough magic in my little pinky finger to blast a dozen darkspawn into oblivion, but here I am..." She scowled at the young man. "Are you saying you won't take the delivery?"

"Uh... no, no, I just... Let me ask the captain."

"Well, I'm not standing around waiting out here." Without allowing for any argument, Wynne pushed inside. The guard allowed them not only inside the courtyard, but inside the fort's front hall, where they waited to see if the captain would buy their story.

After several minutes, the captain entered along with the gate guard, and several others. They did not attack immediately, but clearly they were on alert. The captain eyed the entourage, then focused on Wynne. "So, Madame Mage... what are you delivering exactly?"

"These crates are full of knitting."

"Knitting?"

"Hats, scarves, socks. The yarncrafters of Denerim have donated this gift to our troops. We don't want them catching cold, now."

"And you're delivering them?" He rested a hand casually on his sword hilt. "With a golem?"

"Exactly what I said!" Wynne exclaimed. "But no, the yarncrafters had to pack a huge crate, and how are a gaggle of little old ladies supposed to cart it up here? No, let's ask the Mage Circle, they decided. The mages can magic it up here. Mages aren't the brawniest bunch, you know. Therefore, the task fell to me and my golem. After all, it's hard to say no to kindly grandmothers."

The captain pursed his lips. "It's only that we've taken in a dangerous prisoner, a Grey Warden. And the Grey Wardens have a golem."

Well, there it was, Zevran's fear. "Pish-tosh!" Wynne said, flapping a hand. "_Their_ golem is much smaller than mine. Which is lucky for us all, as that thing could malfunction and go berserk at any time. No, _my_ golem, which has been in my family for three generations, is a genuine product of the mines of Orzammar."

"They don't want the delivery," Zevran interrupted. "Can we just dump these here and go?"

"Quiet, elf," Alistair growled through his helm. "Do your job."

"Actually, bring it here," the captain said. "I'd like to see it."

With a put-upon sigh, Zevran walked over to him, and dropped the crate nearly on his foot.

"Watch it!"

"So sorry, ser." Zevran bowed and groveled, turning his face aside to hide his tattoos.

The captain dismissed the elf from his attention and pried the crate open only to find... socks. Piles of socks.

Wynne said, "I'm glad you brought plenty of your mein, this other crate is heavy. Golem, set it down over-"

"No, no; that's fine," the captain said, straightening. "Sirrik will show you the way to the storerooms.

==#==

In the storeroom, Wynne spelled their hapless escort to sleep, and Zevran quickly changed into his armor. "Where are the dungeons?" he asked the Templar.

"They should be down here," Alistair ventured.

It made sense. Easier to flush out the offal and sluice away the blood. Zevran led the way down the corridor. There was no point in trying to be stealthy, not with the golem along. Might as well move swiftly.

"Try not to kill anyone," Alistair added. "We'll need them in the war."

Zevran made no promises.

They came across a door with two guards, who Wynne dispatched easily enough, with another sleep spell. Beyond was a flight of stairs down, and another maze of halls. No dungeon cells yet.

They rounded a corner and nearly ran down an elven servant hobbling along, carrying a box overflowing with discarded armor and weapons.

"Stay out of the way, if you know what's good for you," Zevran growled threateningly. That should be enough to cow him. Zevran marched on, feeling each passing second as a grain of sand falling through an hourglass.

"Really?" the elf snarked.

The assassin whirled, his dagger drawn, before he realized he knew that voice.

The dark-haired elf bent and dropped his box with a clank. "Wow, it is true! An elf carrying a box really _is_ invisible."

"Bannon!?" Zevran blinked, frowned... put his foolish dagger away. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, _escaping_," the thief said, pointing out the obvious.

Wynne slapped a hand to her face. Alistair said, "We're here to rescue you."

"Good job! I'm glad you're here. Zevran, give me a hand with this crate."

The elves lifted it between them. "Ugh," Zevran complained. "Why is your stuff so heavy?"

"Because it's not just _my_ stuff," the thief said with a wink and a grin.

"Great, you get captured, imprisoned... and what? It is just another opportunity for you to steal?"

"Serves them right!"

They backtracked to the storeroom, threw Zevran's armor and the content of Bannon's box into the long crate the rescue party had brought with them. Then the elves hefted that between them to carry out.

"It can't be this easy," Alistair portended.

"Don't jinx it," Wynne said.

The two elves turned invisible by mere dint of lowering their heads and stooping their shoulders.

No one stopped them, even though a guard shift came in. The astute captain looked up, but only to ask them, "Where's Sirrik?"

Alistair said, "He stopped at the necessary."

The captain only shook his head. After all, they hadn't been gone long enough to engineer a prison break or anything.

Zevran didn't know what to do with his pent-up hostility. Did he want to jump Bannon and pummel him for stupidly letting himself get captured? Or did he want to wrestle the canny thief into bed in relief that he was alive and unharmed? Or punch him in the gut for not even needing to be rescued after they went through all that trouble?

Maybe a little bit of everything.

==_X_==


	16. Arrangements

**Arrangements**

****_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: always a possibility  
Violence: no  
Nudity: yes  
Sex: yes (m/m)  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

This has been a long time coming.

* * *

**Arrangements**

==#==

Arl Eamon met them in the foyer. "Warden! It is good to see you safe, and unharmed, I hope?"

"I'll just need some rest and maybe a nice rack of lamb at dinner, and I'll be good as new," Bannon said.

The Arl nodded, then turned to the other Warden. "Alistair, I need to see you in my office."

"Do you?" the Templar whined. "But every time I went to your office it was to be scolded for something." Gloomily, he trudged after the Arl.

Zevran turned to Bannon. "And I need to see you in _my_ office," he growled.

But then Wynne jumped in. "Actually, it sounds like he needs a healing."

"Aww, Wynne!" Bannon whined. "Buuuuut...!"

"No 'buts,' ser! Now let's go!"

==#==

"Now rest here until dinner," Wynne ordered. She had Bannon on a cot in the ladies' dormitory.

"But I thought you were going to heal my leg. I should be... healed! What rest?"

"And no hanky-panky," the mage scolded, just as Alistair walked in.

"What hanky-panky?" he said in concern. "Didn't I tell you two, no hanky-panky in my bed?"

Bannon threw his hands up in the air. "Couldn't Eamon have kept you an hour or three longer?"

"No!'

Then Zevran came in. "What is taking you so-? Alistair? You're done with Eamon already?"

The knight whirled on him. "Yes. And _no!_ No hanky-panky in my bed," he emphasized.

"Where do you suggest we 'hanky-panky' then?"

"Nowhere!"

Wynne said, "He needs to _rest_."

To which Zevran replied, "It will be very restful! My Antivan massage techniques are very relaxing!"

"And don't start going on about your relaxing massa- too late." The mage sighed.

"It doesn't have to be in Alistair's bed," Zevran allowed. "We could use Leliana's bed. which one is hers?"

Wynne face-palmed.

"No, _Morrigan's_ bed!"

"Just one?" Bannon asked, sitting on the edge of the cot and putting on his boots.

"Aha! Good point! We shall use them all!"

"No!" shouted Alistair and Wynne.

The mage continued, "I have knitting to catch up with. I will be sitting right here, the whole time." She crossed to a rocking chair and dug yarn and needles out of a basket beside it.

"Oh ho, a voyeur," Zevran said with a saucy waggle of his eyebrows.

"Not happening," Wynne said.

"I will be sure to put on a daring display of my prowess and flexibility!"

"No you won't!" She pointed a needle at him. "I will run this knitting needle through you; I'm not joking!"

Alistair frowned. "Isn't that my line?" He shook himself. "Listen, can we be serious now? I have a serious problem."

"What's the matter?" Bannon asked him.

"Eamon is talking about me marrying Anora!"

Wynne's brows went up, but she remained silent. Bannon said, "Well, that'd be good, right? She's an experienced queen. You said you didn't want anything to do with running a country. Just get her to do all the work."

"B-B-But! It would just be weird." Alistair paced as he complained. "She's my brother's wife. What about heirs?"

Zevran said, "Do you need instruction on that part?"

"No!" Alistair looked at Bannon. "I don't even know anything about her!"

"All right, all right." The Denerim elf stood and started calculating. "We'll just arrange a dinner for the two of you. You can sit down, chat, eat, get to know each other."

"Alone? By ourselves? Without a chaperone?" Alistair clung to Bannon's arm. "Will you come with me?"

"No." The elf tried to slide out of his grip, pushing at his hands. "Look, Eamon can chaperone. And Wynne. She's... matronly."

She looked up from her yarn. "Am I?"

"You are. You'll go, won't you?"

"Pleeeeease," Alistair added, quite desperately.

"Yes, I can go."

"All right," the knight said, finally letting go of Bannon. "That's reasonable. What will we have? What do we have? How long does it take to cook?" He started panicking again.

"You don't have to cook, remember?" the elf reminded him.

"Right! I'll go talk to the chef!" Girding his loins, Alistair strode out of the room.

"And I... will have a word with the laundress," said Bannon, following close behind.

"Laundress?" Zevran wondered. "What fo-? Bannon?"

==#==

"Bannon!"

"I'm a little busy, Morrigan."

"So it seems." She insisted on matching his quick pace towards the servants' wing. "Rumor has it that you've been kissing Zevran by the well."

"Really?" he said in shock. He was utterly surprised that'd she'd heard about it. "So?"

"Kissing? Seriously? Here I thought you were paying him off for the assassination of my mother."

"What?" He almost tripped on his own feet. Morrigan thought he was whoring himself out to Zevran? "No!"

"Then what are you playing at?" she growled.

"I... just... look, it's not what you think." What was he going to tell the witch now?

"Clearly," she said icily. Then she turned and stalked off.

Great, what did _that_ mean? He'd have to think of something, but later. Right now, he really was very, very busy.

==#==

Now, everything was set. Alistair and Anora, chaperoned by Eamon and Wynne, would have a pleasant dinner with conversation and wine. Everyone else would be at dinner in the hall, but Bannon dragged Zevran into the back hall.

"What about dinner?" the Antivan asked.

"Never mind dinner. Grab that basket."

Zevran moved to the basket full of linens. "Laundry? It is laundry hour?" He followed Bannon down the hall and into the east wing. They entered a luxuriously-appointed room. "This is not the laundry room."

"No, it's Anora's room." The thief locked the door.

Zevran set the basket on the floor. "And we're here because...?"

"Because, A: Anora is stuck at dinner with Alistair for an hour or two, and B: silk sheets!" He bent and rummaged in the basket.

The assassin nodded appreciatively. "_Amore_... It would be perfect if you had also remembered-"

"These?" Bannon pulled the silk ropes out of the basket.

Zevran's face lit up. "You miss nothing, _Amore! _ You know the way straight to my heart."

"Mm hm." Bannon moved to him, tipping his head to capture the assassin's mouth. He tugged at Zevran's belt while the blond pulled at his shirt.

"Now we just need a broomstick," Zevran purred.

Bannon's eyes snapped open and he jerked back.

"Haha! I see that look, you naughty elf." Zevran grinned, shaking a scolding finger at him. "No, no. The broomstick goes behind the knees, over the elbows. Once all trussed up and opened, then your lover can have his way with you." He nibbled Bannon's neck while the Denerim elf thought that over. "But we shall have to make do with you tying me to the bedposts, hm?"

Bannon eased back. Zevran wanted to be tied up? And 'taken advantage of'? It didn't sit well with the Ferelden elf. It was too much like what he knew of the Crow Masters.

"What's wrong?" Zevran asked, tracing his jaw with one finger.

Bannon looked up at him. "Show me how?"

A heated smile warmed the Antivan's lips. "Of course, lover."

==#==

The silk sheets were cool and sinfully smooth against Bannon's bare skin. Slippery. The ropes were, too, but he didn't think he could actually slip his hands out of them. Not that he wanted to, but there was a frission of fear below the excitement of sex. Zevran noticed him trembling.

"All right, lover?"

"Yes," Bannon agreed eagerly.

"It is a good thing you are so flexible."

There was no broomstick in the noble's chambers, but there was a cast iron rod for stoking the fire. It had been shockingly cold against Bannon's skin, but not for long. He was radiating body heat.

Lying on his back, knees and elbows tucked up over his torso, he wasn't sure exactly how this was going to work, but it definitely left him open and vulnerable as the Antivan had promised.

Zevran moved to check on the heating rack for the massage oils, which the thief had also remembered to bring. He tested the oil's heat and, satisfied, he laid out a measure on his palm. "Now hold still," he teased, as if Bannon could escape.

His hands clenched, but he didn't pull against the silken bonds as Zevran slicked his open cleft. He teased the entrance, then slipped a finger inside, eliciting a gasp from his partner.

"Zevran...," Bannon said, already breathless as the assassin made sure he was thoroughly prepared. "Zevran," with a little more desperation. "We have to be quiet."

"Oh?" Zevran cocked a brow. "Try a healthy dose of self control" He chuckled and took his time finishing his ministrations. To his credit, Bannon did try to strangle his moans. "No, no, lover. I have just the thing."

He pulled a pillowcase from the laundry and created an impromptu gag, reinforced with one of the drapery ropes for Bannon to bite down on.

The Denerim elf was hard, standing tall in eager anticipation. He trembled slightly, from need or the unusual strain, it didn't matter. He was beautiful. Zevran's own cock was ready, or almost. More heavenly hot oil wouldn't hurt. He stroked it on, making sure bannon's dark eyes could see, could watch.

"Now, this may be difficult, but you need to open your knees." Zevran moved atop him, pressed an elbow to the inside of his leg to help. "Yes... good..." He pressed between Bannon's legs, watched his eyes dilate wide as he slowly penetrated him.

Bannon moaned into the gag, and instinctively tried to position his body to receive his lover's thrusts. He'd never dreamed he could face his lover during sex. His vision was hazy, but he watched Zevran's face relax and lose its mask of cunning and snark. The sex infused him with pleasure and freedom, and a fierceness as they approached climax.

Zevran's hand gripped his shaft, hot with oil. The assassin bent close, kissed his throat, murmured in his ear how good he was doing, how good he felt. Heat of pride swelled in Bannon's heart. He couldn't say it with his mouth, but _yes, yes_ said his eyes, and _more, oh more_ said his body.

They thoroughly soiled Anora's silk sheets.

Bannon had planned for this, too, though Zevran grumbled vociferously about having to remake the huge bed after such vigorous sexual antics.

"I told you, she's only gone a few hours, and if you don't help, I'm going to tie you up and leave you here in this mess to explain it all."

"I shall tell very lurid stories about you. And Sten."

"If you want your reward, you have to do the work."

"There's more reward?" The assassin's ears perked up eagerly.

"You're still hungry, aren't you?"

"_Si!_"

Oils packed (Zevran thought to leave them for Anora's use, but no, the annoying bitch didn't deserve it), laundry basket piled, cords wrapped up and accounted for... Bannon smoothed the coverlet. "The perfect crime," he declared with a grin.

Between them, they carted the basket out of the room. They even crossed paths with Anora and Alistaiir, but no one paid any mind to two plainly-dressed elven servants.

They brought the basket downstairs and into the large store room with three huge wooden tubs. Bannon secured the door by wedging two daggers into it. "Dump the laundry in."

"Now we are to do laundry?" Zevran wondered. "My estimation of your entertainment skills is dipping dangerously low again."

"Haven't you learned not to underestimate me?" the thief chided. He helped empty the basket - after rescuing the oils - into the steaming tub. "Is it boiling?"

"No, why?"

"Get in." Bannon started shucking his clothes.

"In the tub? On top of the laundry?"

"It's still silk, ain't it?"

"And what about the eating you promised me?"

"Aw, don't you want to eat me?" Bannon teased.

"Hmm... maybe after some real food."

Bannon moved about until he found another basket - no, two! - picnic baskets, and yes, they were full of meat and cheese and bread, and one rack of lamb. He propped them up on a folding tray table near to hand as the two elves soaked in the very hot water.

"I could get used to this," Zevran said, crunching on an apple after eating his fill. He leaned back on the edge of the tub.

Bannon leaned back beside him, dangling a bunch of grapes over his mouth to avoid them getting wet while he nibbled. He turned to Zevran. You are such an Antivan prince," he said in a throaty Antivan accent. He reached over and dangled his grapes above Zevran's lips.

"You are such a sexy serving wench." Zevran tried to bite a grape, but Bannon teased him by pulling them out of reach. "You know, a thief once told me how to deal with just such a situation as this."

"Oh?"

"_Si_, he said to punch the guy in the balls. Then he would drop everything he was holding."

Bannon chuckled. "He sounds like a master thief." He relinquished the grapes and moved to straddle Zevran's lap. His hands smoothed the planes of the other elf's chest.

"Quite masterful," Zevran admitted. "What are you doing?"

"An Antivan massage. This will relax you," Bannon said, still laying on the sexy accent.

"I am already so thoroughly relaxed."

"You see how good I am!" Bannon grinned.

Zevran glanced down. "Are you always so stimulated by hot water?"

"I am when there is also a hot elf involved." Bannon cocked his head. "You're really that tired?"

"Hey, I did all the work, Ser Truss Me Up And Have Your Way With Me."

"Well, Grey Wardens do have a lot of stamina."

"All the more reason-" Zevran began to ask about the Joining again.

"No."

The assassin sighed. He put the fruit aside. "Well, I can still relax you." He pushed Bannon back against the wall of the tub. "I am also very good at holding my breath."

==#==

Both thoroughly relaxed (and getting a bit pruned), the elves went to their room, where they were met by an agitated Alistair.

"You look very handsome in your fancy tunic," Zevran commented.

Alistair didn't even blink at the Antivan's interest. "Where've you guys been? Why are you all wet?"

"Wouldn't you like to-"

"We had a bath," Bannon interrupted. "How did your dinner date go?"

"Date?" the knight yelped. "That wasn't a date, it was a sentencing! Anora, she's... she's... gah! She's just like her father. She-" He slapped his hands over his head in distress. "She's Loghain in drag! You've got to get me out of this!"

"Whoa, whoa, all right." Bannon tried to calm him. "We'll work on something."

==_X_==


	17. Bits of Business

**Bits of Business**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: no  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

This is just bits of business I had to take care of. Uh, and it turned out long. Yay!

* * *

**Bits of Business**

==#==

"Hey, Bannon?"

"Yeah?"

Bannon and Alistair were in the bathing chamber, washing up and cleaning their teeth after getting out of bed. Zevran had already woken early and snuck off somewhere.

"Will you go with me to the armorer? I have to return the helm we borrowed."

"You 'borrowed' something without me?" Bannon gave him sad puppy eyes.

Alistair chuckled. "Yeh, we actually had to _ask_. It was _so_ difficult," he snarked.

"I have to get my armor repaired, anyway."

"Oh, good." Alistair bent closer to the mirror, finishing up with the razor, in a concentrated effort to shave his whole face, except that one little stray patch below his lip. Bannon would never understand that 'style.' At least it was barely noticeable, but why bother?

When Alistair was done and rinsing soap lather from his face, Bannon moved in to inspect his teeth. When he was satisfied there weren't any stray bits of food stuck in them, he moved on to combing his hair. He wanted another trim, but Zevran adored it so. Running his skillful fingers down through the long, long locks. He might have to grow it down to his waist...

"Can I ask you something?" Alistair interrupted his musings. "Something kinda personal?"

Bannon shrugged. "Sure." It was funny, come to think of it, that Alistair was his closest friend - besides Zevran. His brother, not his lover. The man he'd swindled out of a lot of coins when they'd first met, the man he'd hidden cheese from when they were both starving... Bannon couldn't imagine doing that sort of thing to Alistair any more.

"Well, it's just, I was wondering... an unspecified idle curiosity, mind you..." The Templar hemmed and hawed, and Bannon waited for him to ge to the point. "What's it like? Being with another man?"

Bannon stopped in mid-comb and looked at him.

"I mean," Alistair sammered, "not... you know... i gory detail, but... I _think_ I know how it works, with two men." He pantomimed some hand gestures.

"Yeah...?" Bannon semi-encouraged, not sure what the Chantry boy was actually trying to ask, here.

"And I _think_ I understand - not to be, uh, _prying_ or anything, and not meaning anything by it, - but like that he, um, you know." Alistair curled one hand up high. "And that you, er, you know." He curled the other one underneath the first.

"Not always, but usually," Bannon clarified. "What's your question?"

"Well..." Alistair frowned at his copulating hands. "Just... doesn't that hurt?"

Bannon chuckled. "No, Alistair, it doesn't hurt."

"Really?"

"Look, it's the same thing with a woman."

"Ueh?"

"If you do it wrong, or badly, or too hard, you could hurt her." The elf ran the comb idly through his hair again. "Zevran's very... _very_ talented."

Alistair gaped, _thoughts_, probably damaging his tender brain. Then he shook himself. "I don't know. IT just seems to me that would be entirely uncomfortable."

"Well, I guess it's not for everyone," Bannon said with a relieved little laugh. It certainly wasn't for men in Ferelden, or elves in the Alienage. He frowned as his thoughts strayed, and he had to wonder - was there something wrong with him?

==#==

The Wardens went to breakfast, and caught up with their companions and the latest news. Rumors were flying about Arl Howe's demise - Did Loghain attack and kill him? Over suspicions of slave trading? Did Howe kidnap Anora? Did Anora kill him? Or had she fled from her father, in fear for her life from him? Where was Anora now? Loghain had called a meeting for the afternoon to face the arls and banns and explain.

Arl Eamon would attend, to avoid looking suspicious, as Leliana recommended. There was a chance, however, Loghain would confront him about the Grey Wardens' hand in all this. Luckily, Loghain had no proof.

Anora remained in her room, waited on by her handmaid. She declined to return to the castle or to attend the meeting. Leliana was apparently becoming close with the queen, despite Anora's inherited distrust of anything Orlesian.

The Orlesian Grey Warden, Riordan, was also abed, recovering, under Wynne's supervision. Alistair was eager to talk to him, learn from him, and possibly cede the Ferelden Grey Warden order to him. Bannon didn't think he liked that, but who was he to lead an ancient non-partisan order of warriors?

At least Riordan was grateful for his liberation. What about Soris? He'd only been pissed that Bannon had run off to save the world instead of him. Well, sure, that was understandable. But it wasn't his fault, was it? There as Duncan, and the Wardens, and the darkspawn, and Loghain's treachery, and everything else.

Bannon and Alistair took Sten and Shale with them, to avoid needing an armed escort of Redcliffe guardsmen. Zevran was nowhere to be found. Good, the black leather, and the circulation of Bannon's arm, would be safe.

Bannon took the earring out of his pocket and stared at the brassy gold, the glinting gem chips. Once more, he considered this... thing between him and the Antivan elf. Couldn't he disentangle the comradeship from the sex? Certainly, they were separate things. They had been, before. Before Zevran had seduced him for his own amusement and gratification.

Bannon frowned. What he'd felt before, for the assassin, he would not have classified it as 'love.' Friends, rivals, comrades, brothers... but love? Was it just an illusion? A trick his cock played on his heart?

But he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Zevran, sharing his life, sharing everything. Isn't that what marriage was? Marriage by choice...

Then did he want to never have sex with anyone other than Zevran? Definitely not! But... the Antivan surely felt the same way. Why couldn't they be together with the choice of any sexual partners they wanted?

Whose business was it who he had sex with, anyway? It's not like that was something anyone did out in the open.

Bannon sighed deeply, looking at the ring. _What am I going to do with you?_

Throw it away? No!

Sell it, pawn it? No.

Wear it? ...

He turned it over and over in his fingers. No. He couldn't wear it. Dangling from his ear, for all to see?

He couldn't.

He slipped the ring back into his pocket as Shale and Sten's ponderous footsteps drew closer.

"Will we be going to the bakery?" Sten wanted to know.

"Maybe," Alistair said. "What do you think, Bannon?"

"Yeah, maybe."

Shale said, "I do not see what is so fascinating about sugared confections."

"You would if you ate one," Alistair shot back.

"Well, I did."

The Wardens blinked. "You ate a cookie?" Alistair asked.

"I didn't know you ate anything," Bannon added, worried.

"I do not. I simply placed a cookie in my mouth and... chewed, until it was dust. I do not see the point."

"That's sad," Alistair said.

"Maybe you should try drinking liquor next," Bannon mused.

Alistair punched him in the arm. "What are you thinking? A drunken golem?"

"Uh, yeah - no! I meant you _shouldn't_ try it. Bad idea. Waste of good booze."

Shale drew his brows together in an altogether canny look.

_Great_, thought Bannon; _I've created a monster._

==#==

As they traversed the marketplace, various people waved and called greetings to Alistair. Wow, his 'speech' had sure made him popular. Bannon couldn't help but notice that many of them were young maids. Probably with eyes on the queen's crown. Alistair didn't seem to notice.

"I can't stop thinking about Goldana," he said to Bannon. "And her kids. Her supposed husband. If I could just... maybe send her some money?"

The elf frowned. "Alistair, you're _not_ responsible for her happiness."

"I know that, but... if I could do something-"

"Money won't make her happy."

"I know, but..." He sighed. "I don't know what to do."

"You don't need to do anything," Bannon told him.

"I feel so helpless."

"Just focus on yourself."

"On myself, feeling helpless."

Bannon sighed at his friend's stubborn mood. "If it will make you feel better, send her a bag of gold, but don't expect any gratitude." He strode ahead and went in the door to the armorer's.

There were a few people present, looking at armor and shields. One poor fool was trying to haggle with Herren. Sten and Shale ducked through the door and gravitated towards the helmets. Sten complained about a lack of helmets that fit him, and Shale, as usual, scoffed at needing helmets at all. Bannon waited his turn at the counter, but Alistair decided to return the bucket helm directly to Wade.

He approached the archway to the back room. "Hello?"

"Ah! The Grey Wardens!" Wade rushed out of the back. "My favorite customers!"

"I just came to return this," Alistair said, a little awkwardly in the face of the man's enthusiasm. He offered the helm. "Not a scratch, as promised."

"Aigh!" Wade yelped. "Put that away before someone things I actually made that dull monstrosity."

"Wade...," Herren complained tiredly. "We sell all types of armor."

"_You_ sell all types of armor. _I_ sell masterpieces!"

Herren gave up on that and turned to Alistair. "Why are you returning this item?"

"I, uh, well, I was just borrowing it."

"'Borrowing'?" The man turned with a glare. "Wade!"

"Oh, pish-tosh!" Wade grabbed the helm and went to put it in an obscure place on the back shelves. "It was for a good cause!"

"'Renting,'" Herren shot back. "It's called 'renting,' and that means they pay for it." He turned back to Alistair. "I'm _sure_ you recall I told you my partner is in no way or wise in charge of setting prices."

"Uh... well..." Alistair looked unsure.

Bannon stepped in. "Look, my friend already had a verbal contract, and the helm is in resalable condition. In the meantime," he cut off Herren's argument, "I need to have my armor repaired."

Wade shot over to him. "My baby!" He tugged the dragonscale leathers out to assess the bloodstained rents. "Aigh! What have you _done_ to it?"

"It wasn't me, it was the other guy."

"Armor of this calibre should never be treated in such a heinous manner!"

Herren said, "Now, Wade. It's armor. It's meant to be worn in battle."

Wade drew up to his full height and glared down at the elf. "This, ser, shall _cost_ you!" He turned on one heel and marched into his workshop.

Bannon blinked in surprise and looked over at Herren. The laconic businessman's neutral expression may have twitched towards a smile.

==#==

They left Sten and Shale at the armorer's, to get the former measured for a custom helmet. Next stop was the Alienage. Bannon wanted to check on his family, see about paying them that visit he'd promised.

No sooner had they walked in the gates and crossed the bridge than they were met by those three beggars. And more of their friends. Alistair was concerned that they'd have to take a firm hand and tell them to shove off. And risk a confrontation that could get ugly. Yet all Bannon did was smile and hail them as long lost comrades-in-arms at Ostagar.

"Hello, my friend!"

"Good to see you, ser!'

"And how's your family doing?"

"Oh, _much_ better, ser. Thanks to your generosity. Thank you, ser! Andraste's Blessings!" The two silvers Bannon gave him disappeared into a dark pocket, never to see the light of day again. "And this is my cousin. He was at Ostagar, too."

A new beggar shuffled forward eagerly, hands cupped. Bannon grinned and said, "Oh my, don't tell me, I can see - the darkspawn et half his face!"

The beggars stopped a moment, frowning. Bannon turned to 'half-foot' with a broad wink. Half-foot burst out in a long guffaw. The other elf looked about to punch Bannon in the face, until two silver coins landed in his hands. Then he was all bright eyes and cheery smile. "Ha ha! Good one, ser!"

The beggars laughed and smiled and blesed Bannon, almost all the way down the bridge. Then, after alms had been given and the Grey Wardens passed, the elves scattered to spend their new fortune, or hoard it, or whatever they did with it.

Alistair frowned at himself. They were elves, just like Bannon. Poor folk of the Alienage. Who was he to judge? Wasn't he planning to send a whole purse of gold to his sister? Didn't he want to see his family prosper and be happy? Bannon had said as much about it before.

Yet... people shouldn't take advantage. "You know," he ventured, "There were like twice as many beggars there as last time."

"I know."

"I don't think they were all at Ostagar?"

Bannon just chuckled. "Come on, Alistair. How stupid do you think I am?"

"Well, you're not. Just... They're taking advantage."

The elf nodded.

"Shouldn't you... I don't know, encourage them less? A little? Maybe?"

"Look, good will is hard to come by. And it ain't cheap."

"Bu-u-ut..."

"Someday, we might be glad to have friends like that."

Alistair closed his mouth in a frown. He didn't see how 'friends like that' were much of 'friends' at all, but... Bannon had made up his mind, it seemed.

They found Shianni in the square beneath the giant tree, and Bannon asked her if it was all right for him to bring guests to dinner.

"That elf fellow that was with you?" she asked.

"Zev, yes. And Alistair and Wynne, if that wouldn't be too much trouble."

Shianni tilted her head, brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Why would shems - sorry, I mean humans," she corrected, looking guiltily at Alistair, "want to come here for dinner?"

"Alistair is my friend and fellow Grey Warden," Bannon told her. "I would like him to meet my family."

"I'd really enjoy that," the knight added. "And some good home cooking."

Bannon added, "And Wynne is a good friend as well. you'll like her; she's very easy to talk to. she's a healer."

"I don't need a healer." She narrowed her eyes at him.

"No," he said guilelessly, "but you like to talk. a _lot._"

With that, she laughed and agreed they could come tonight. She started planning a goose, and Bannon offered her money.

"We don't need charity," Shianni said stubbornly. "Honestly cousin, Soris is right. The outside world has changed you."

"It's not that," said Bannon. "Just... I have been successful out there, and I want my family to be happy."

"Well that's sweet, but you can't pay for your own dinner. You're the guest, after all!"

"All right, all right," he said, smiling. "But at least let us bring the drinks."

==#==

Alistair was elated to be invited to a _real_ family dinner - a family who loved each other very much. He tried not to smile like a fool.

They were turning to head back to Eamon's estate, when a pale figure caught Alistair's eye. For a moment, it looked uncannily like Duncan, in bleached breastplate and skirting. But no, he was too light of skin and too grey of hair. "Who is... Is that a Templar?"

Bannon and Shianni turned to look. "That's Greyson," she said. "We don't know what he's doing here. He hasn't tried to take away any children."

Templars weren't kidnappers. They followed reports of children with magical talent, to bring them to the Circle Tower, where they could be protected, and trained to control their powers so they didn't accidentally hurt anyone. Or become possessed by a demon, like Connor had. However, common folk had a different view of such practices.

"Maybe you can talk to him," Shianni said.

"Sure," Bannon replied. "We'll see you tonight."

"Good day, Miss Shianni," Alistair said with a little bow. He was glad he could make her smile and bring some colour to her cheeks. She seemed so uncomfortable around him, and he knew why, but he wasn't like those other... _shems_.

Alistair and Bannon crossed to the Templar, who seemed to ignore their approach. He looked a bit old for a Templar. "Careful," Alistair muttered to his companion, "he might be lyrium-addled."

"Greetings, Wardens," the Templar said.

Now Alistair could see why he appeared old. He was blind. "How did you know?"

"You're quite the talk of the town, so to speak. And no, I'm not lyrium-addled."

"Er, uh, sorry."

Bannon said, "Ser Grayson, is it? Do you mind if we ask what you're doing here? Can we help you?"

"It's a good a name as any," the man answered. "And yes, you can help me. There's been a rash of dead dogs lately."

"Dogs?" Bannon blinked and looked at Alistair.

"I would like a survey done on where they occur, and what signs are on the carcasses."

"You think there's some disease?" Alistair asked.

"That's what the investigation will determine."

Alistair looked at Bannon, who was frowning in thought. "Is there a reward?" the elf asked. Alistair rolled his eyes. Really?

"Yes, I have means."

"All right, we'll look into it."

Bannon dragged Alistair off. Out of earshot (he hoped) the former Templar said, "What do you mean, 'is there a reward?'? Isn't this important to your community?"

"If it's anything."

"Well... yeah. You don't think it is?"

Bannon shrugged. "We don't know, until the investigation is done, do we?"

"And when are we going to have time to do that?"

"_We're_ not." The thief grinned cannily, and left Alistair to wonder what _that_ meant.

They turned a corner, and Alistair suppressed a groan. There were twice - no, _three times_ \- as many beggars lying in wait for handouts.

"Hello, friends!" Bannon said with unabashed friendliness. "I'm so glad to see you all here, so ready and eager to help."

"Hello, Warden," several chorused. Some had caught on to the 'help' bit.

"There's been a spate of dead dogs around the Alienage - maybe you've heard about it? Or seen some?"

The elves looked at each other, confused. "There was one down on Way street."

"Good eye!" Bannon called. "Now we don't want any diseases spread by these carcasses, or worse, a plague of mad dogs. So I need you all to sweep the back alleys and find out what's going on, and report back to the Templar Grayson."

"Uh...," said Half-Foot. "But... ser? What about, well, um..."

"Templar Grayson will have rewards for anyone with information." Bannon clapped his hands briskly. "Come, come! There's still daylight lift."

The beggars grumbled, quietly, but began shuffling off. A few of the younger ones trotted away, perhaps eager for a reward.

The Wardens crossed the bridge, Alistair shaking his head.

"I told you," Bannon said.

"I know."

"You should have known better."

"Yep, I should have."

==#==

Zevran met them at Eamon's estate. "Your friend Riordan is awake. He had some interesting news about joining your Order."

Alistair said, "He's up and about?"

"Not so much," Zevran brushed the question off.

Bannon interrupted. "Alistair, you got on and talk to him." As for himself, he dragged the assassin to a quieter side hall. "What has he been telling you about the Joining?"

"He says that among his things, he has a kit to perform the ritual," Zevran said, eyes alight. "Howe stashed it somewhere. We need to infiltrate the Denerim estate, and you, my friend, will put your very impressive talents to use to steal it. Then, I can join-"

"Wait, wait, whoa. I told you, you're not Joining."

"You said you and Alistair did not have the means. Riordan does."

"No, I said it could kill you-"

"Bah!"

"Zevran!" he snapped, teeth slightly bared. "You are _never_ joining the Grey Wardens. It's a death sentence, and I won't - I _can't_ lose you." He bit down on his traitorous tongue.

The Antivan blinked and looked... confused. Then thoughtful. Bannon turned away, unwilling to face him, fearing the confession would finally drive Zevran off. Had he gone too far, revealed too much?

"What about the Crows?" was all the assassin said. "They are still hunting me. Us."

"You're worried about the Crows?" Bannon turned back. "We can take the Crows. You don't need to be a Warden to be able to handle them."

Zevran shook his lowered head. "I have to believe there was some advantage you had, some mysterious power that let you survive that ambush."

Bannon cocked his head in thought. "I guess the secret is to skip the extra mercenaries and go straight for the Crow. Take out the head of the snake."

Zevran nodded. "You really are a master tactician."

Bannon chuckled. "I just got lucky." He let the double entendre hang in the air a moment. Then he shrugged it off. "So anyway, tonight, we're having dinner at my dad's."

"With your red-headed cousin? _Bene!_"

"Just keep your 'benny' in your pants."

==#==

Bannon trotted to catch up with Alistair in Riordan's room. Well, there wasn't enough room for him to have a private room; he was bunked with Sten and Oghren. Bannon was surprised to find the door locked. He rapped on it tentatively.

Alistair opened it. "Oh good, there you are." The elf entered and Alistair secured the door again.

Riordan paced by the window, slowly. He was still a bit pale, his eyes yet showing creases of pain But he was a Warden. Half a steer and a week of sleep should set him right.

"Zevran said something about your kit?" Bannon started without preamble. "You can induct more Grey Wardens?"

"A few. Perhaps." Riordan sat at the side table, facing them. "It depends on what that bastard Howe did with my things, where they are." He held out his hands in a helpless shrug.

"They could be in the Denerim Estate," Alistair added. "Or sent off to Fort Dracon's vault."

"Howe did not seem to know what it was. And believe me, I was not about to explain it to him, no matter how... insistent he became." His mouth twisted in a wry grimace. "I did not yet thank you for killing him, _mon amie_." He nodded to Bannon.

"That was mostly Zevran," the elf told him. "He is _not_ to be Joined," headed in a strident tone, just in case the fool assassin tried to go behind his back.

"_Non?_ He seems quite capable."

"No." Bannon fixed Riordan with his gaze. The human had to respect Bannon's authority in this. Or else... it would not be good.

Riordan just tipped his head in acceptance. "You are the leader of the Grey Wardens, _mon amie_."

Bannon blinked. "You don't-?" He looked at Alistair.

The knight shrugged. "You do sort of have seniority," he told the Orlesian.

The man waved that off. "I am too old. Too weak. I will save my strength for the final battle."

"You're not old," Alistair said. "You're not that much older than Duncan... was."

"There is so much you still do not know about the Wardens," Riordan said, shaking his head sadly.

"Well, now is a good time to tell us," Bannon prodded.

Riordan looked up at them, studying one, then the other, his eyes hooded. "There will be time," is all he said. "Now... I should rest."

Alistair and Bannon left, the latter scowling. Further along the hall he said, "I don't like it. He's hiding something."

"Like what?" Alistair asked. He lowered his voice and checked for nearby servants. "Something worse than the nightmares, not having children, dying young from the Taint?"

"Yeah," Bannon said, but he hated to think what that could be.

==_X_==


	18. Taleisin

**Taleisin**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

not making obvious comment... not making obvious comment... not making obvious cliche comment... This is serious drama, here!

this is how i'm spelling Taleisin's name, and i'm sticking to it. (and now i can't remember what my obvious cliche comment was. whew!)

* * *

**Taliesin**

==#==

"How long is this going to take?" Bannon railed. "The horde could be at our gates before we get this stupid Landsmeet done." The Wardens had nothing else planned for today, just a dinner later on tonight.

Alistair said, "I was kinda relieved to have extra time to prepare. For Riordan to gain his strength." He shrugged.

"Relaxing is all well and good," Zevran said, "but enough is enough."

Leliana, dressed impeccably in her fancy Chantry robes, glided into the room. She had really transformed to a gruff field fighter to a refined lady. The boys automatically straightened up when she entered their presence. She smiled at them, because they probably didn't realize what they did. "I have good news. The Chanter's Board has yielded a job suitable for-"

"Argh!" Bannon interrupted.

"Charity?" the assassin complained.

"Didn't we just avoid having to do a good deed?" the elven Warden said to the other. "Er, I mean... _work!_" Alistair nodded.

Leliana waved off all their protests. "This particular job is right up your alley. It appears that an Ash Wraith has been reported within the city walls, terrorizing citizens. Bannon, I do believe that is your specialty."

Bannon looked at Alistair. Alistair quirked his brow back.

"Aha, _si!_ I remember this story well!" Zevran bounced to his feet. "We must go! I _must_ see this secret Templar technique for dealing with Ash Wraiths!"

"Uh, yeah, um..." the Wardens hemmed and hawed. Bannon untangled his tongue and said, "Well, no, we're not whipping them out in front of you. No." Alistair heartily agreed.

"Gentlemen," Leliana said, in that gruff fighter voice, "it is your duty to help your future constituents and allies." She handed them the parchment from the board. "Go do your duty."

"Yes, ma'am."

==#==

They weren't able to escape the estate without Morrigan insisting on tagging along. It was either that, or she was going to inform Eamon and have him send the Redcliffe guard with them. That just wouldn't do well for the Warden's reputation, if they needed an army just to defeat one wraith.

Bannon led the way to the alley, it was quite deserted this afternoon. Probably from fear of the wraith's attacks. Zevran was keeping up the rear, pestering Alistair with questions about whizzing on Ash Wraiths. The poor Templar scooted up to keep abreast of Morrigan. As for Bannon, he tried to ignore the witch's stare on him.

"I have two wineskins," Zevran was saying. "Should we not have imbibed them before leaving? Are you sure we will have enough volume on hand? Perhaps Morr-"

Suddenly, Bannon froze. Alistair almost stumbled into him, and Morrigan almost collided with them both. The elf slipped between them like an eel and pushed Zevran back. "Hide!" The Antivan looked at him, momentarily puzzled, but then saw where Bannon was pointing. Two crows were hopping along the gutter.

"Wh-?" was all Alistair had time to say.

"Stay here," Bannon hissed, and he faded into the shadows as the assassin disappeared.

Morrigan huffed. Alistair looked around at the empty street.

==#==

A few moments later, the two elves reappeared. Zevran said, "It is the Taleisin, one of the best of the Antivan Crows. We cannot avoid him."

"Follow me," Bannon said. "Don't stray far, there are traps everywhere."

"He is not alone," Zevran warned. "Be prepared for an ambush."

==#==

His time was up at last. Zevran knew a pang of fear at the sight of the crows, pecking idly at something in the street. _Damn you, Taleisin!_ He shook it off. Stupid to warn your prey before attacking. "Come out, Taleisin! I have seen your pretentious omen," he called.

"_Hola_, Zev! You have no idea how glad I was to hear you were still alive." Taleisin appeared at the end of the alley, on a rise of several steps to another street level. His skin was sun-bronzed, his hair very dark. His beard he kept neatly trimmed, but his hair he let have a little wildness to it.

Behind Zevran, Alistair muttered, "They know each other?"

"Apparently," Bannon muttered back.

To Taleisin, Zevran said, "So worried, that you came to kill me?"

"I came to kill the bastards who'd killed you, _amico_." Taleisin spread his hands. "Then they told me you joined up with your targets?" He chuckled, showing a flash of white teeth. Then he grew serious. His voice lowered as he looked directly at Zevran. "I know why you did it. I understand. It doesn't have to end in bloodshed. Come back with me," he pleaded. "We'll make up a story. Farkus will just be glad the job got done."

"All it requires," Morrigan said coldly, "is for you to betray your current allies, and leave none alive." She, of course, did not sound surprised.

Zevran sighed in resignation. "In a way, I was hoping it would be you they sent for me, Taleisin. After our last mission together... You are right, my friend. We need to talk."

He turned and took a few steps towards Bannon. "It has been fun, but alas these things must pass. You know how it is," he shrugged flippantly. "Just business." He turned his body further away from Taleisin.

Bannon scowled. "So this guy is a friend of yours? Nice they sent him to kill you."

"Just so! I told you I am very lucky."

"So he's a Crow type of friend?"

"_Si._" Zevran grasped his hands. "I know you understand."

"I do."

"Then this is good-bye. Die well!"

Bannon pulled his hands back and folded his arms. "Yeah, good luck, _pal_." He turned and went back to Alistair and Morrigan, while Zevran straightened his spine with effort. He walked towards Taleisin, hands well away from his weapons.

==#==

"I told you," Morrigan growled, "to slit his throat while you had the chance!"

Alistair gaped at Bannon. "Aren't you going to... say something?" He gripped his shield handle tighter.

"There's nothing more to say."

"You're going to let him just go back to being a slave? Not to mention, oh, the whole _betraying and killing us all?_"

"He knows what he's doing. Besides, he did leave me with these." He showed the Templar and the witch what he had cupped in his hands.

Alistair frowned. "Zevran gave you... his balls?"

That's when the crossbowmen popped up out of cover. "Get down!" Bannon yelled, and Alistair ducked. Bannon threw the grenade in his right hand at the stack of crates, and they exploded into a satisfying barrage of fiery splinters.

"Morrigan - rear!"

The witch turned as she cast her ice wall, cutting off the attackers from that quarter. Bannon lobbed the other grenade in the opposite direction, but not towards where Zevran had gone. A few Crows went down; the rest scattered. Smoke began to fill the alley.

==#==

Zevran was only halfway to Taleisin when the Crow gave the signal to attack. Zevran pulled a shiv from his bracer and flung it at the human's face. Taleisin dodged and it only clipped his ear. "_Brasca!_"

Taleisin threw a smoke bomb down at the center of the stairs. "Kill the Wardens!" he shouted. "Leave the traitor!"

Zevran darted forward, bending low as his blades cleared their sheaths. He cut left, trying to second guess his friend's dodge. He found nothing but smoke.

_Brasca!_ he thought, but kept silent. His mind raced through a mental game of Crow versus Crow. He knew all of Taleisin's moves, and Taleisin knew his. They both knew the other was familiar with their strategies. It would all come down to who could be more unpredictable.

==#==

"Traps!" Bannon reminded his companions. "Let them come to you." He drew his swords and ducked into the smoke, under the guard of a burly shadow groping its way through the haze. Two simple stabs, armpit and groin, just like Isabella and Zevran had taught him, and with this economy of motion and energy, his enemy fell.

Another one, he simply shoved over into one of the Crows' traps. The jaws snapped with a juicy crunch on his neck, leaving him kicking and bleeding out like a dying rat.

It may well be that these weren't Crows at all, but simply hired mercenaries. This Taleisin had said they would lie to Farkus, their Crow master. But that wouldn't work if those were other Crows who might return with them, with different stories they might trade for favors.

If Taleisin hadn't been outright lying - and that was a big if - then he'd either come alone, or only with some apprentice Crows, who would die killing the Wardens. Bannon could hope.

==#==

Zevran kept moving, kept to the thickest smoke where he could. At least Taleisin had told the others not to attack him. Did he think that if the Wardens were dead, Zevran would have no choice but to return to the Crows?

Would he?

No. Better to die a free elf than live as a slave.

He turned and followed the steps down, dodging traps. His strategy was clear now. Kill the mercenaries and save the Wardens. He swept his swords in a scissor cut on the back of a crossbow man's neck. He shoved the body down the last few steps to clear traps ahead. Then he moved towards the thick of the fighting.

All he had to do was backstab everyone attacking the Wardens from this side. And not get blasted by Morrigan, clobbered with Alistair's shield again, or backstabbed by Bannon.

All that reminded him of their first fight. He'd been so eager to lose, so sure he'd win. Not like this fight, where he was desperate to survive, and evenly matched with Taleisin. In a toe-to-toe fight, the human had the advantage of size and reach, Zevran had to admit. He thought about his vicious fight with Bannon, making his heart race, his sword strokes harder.

Then he knew what he had to do.

With a roaring battle cry, he threw himself into the thick of the fray without bothering about his own safety.

==#==

Taleisin dodged right, then switched back, double-guessing himself as he tried to predict what Zevran would do.

That damned elf. Taleisin shrugged one shoulder, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his stinging ear. He couldn't blame Zevran, though. Who wouldn't want a chance at freedom? If the Crows wouldn't hunt them to the ends of the earth, he'd run away with Zevran in a heartbeat.

There was still a slim chance Zevran would see reason, once these Grey Wardens were dead. The chances were also slim that the Crow Masters wouldn't give Zevran a traitor's death - a long, slow lesson on why one must never try to escape. But Taleisin meant to try.

There was no use letting Zevran hunt him through the smoke. Taleisin didn't care to be taken like prey - he went on the hunt himself.

If he couldn't find Zevran, then where was that other elf? The one with the damned grenades. Taleisin growled silently as he descended the stairway. He came across a few mercenary bodies. He ignored them.

The elf Warden must be with his companions. Taleisin maneuvered towards the sounds of fighting. Then, he heard Zevran's voice! The mad elf was in the thick of it, trying to get himself killed, it seemed. Taleisin gritted his teeth.

He had half a mind to help Zevran against the mercs. But he'd been trained better. Business was business.

He angled away, so he could come up on the Wardens and their damned mage from the other direction. She should be his main priority. Wardens were just fighters. They bled and died like any other.

The battle shifted as Taleisin moved around it. He followed a billow of smoke as one area cleared. He saw the mage across the way, and the human Warden. He started forward, but an elf stepped out in front of him. Zevran's face was a mask of blood, he limped from a gash in his shapely thigh. He'd lost one sword, and clutched his free arm across his ribs.

"You look like hell, _amico_," Taleisin told him. "Do you really want to do this?"

Zevran's teeth showed white. "Oh indeed I do!" His free arm whipped out, sending another dagger at Taleisin's chest.

The human slapped it out of the way, halting himself barely in time to avoid stepping in one of his traps. Zevran slammed into his side, shoving him over. Taleisin made an awkward jump, narrowly missing the trap. He landed on one knee and jarred his sword arm. He half rolled and sprang back up while Zevran stabbed his sword into the trigger and yanked the blade out before the jaws snapped.

"Dirty fighting, is it?" Taleisin growled.

"Just like the Crows taught us!

Taleisin lunged and Zeveran blocked instead of dodging. The human felt the jab of pain in his wrist, but knew the elf was hurting worse. Zevran's lips were parted as he panted for breath. Even as the elf attacked with a vicious flurry of blows, driving Taleisin back, he could feel Zevran weakening. He was going to lose.

Taleisin changed direction, avoiding another trap. He lashed out with his sword. It was a sloppy blow, not even at his fastest and strongest, but it still cut Zevran deep on the bicep, through leather armor and flesh. "Last chance!" Taleisin snapped. "Surrender!"

"Never!"

Zevran lunged, ineffectually. Taleisin closed his mind to the possibility of saving him, walled off the memories of time spent with him. Now he was nothing more than a mark. A heifer before the butcher.

The heat of battle left Taleisin and he became a cold killing machine. He attacked, efficiently, ruthlessly, this death a foregone conclusion.

Zevran tried to parry. Taleisin's blow knocked the elf's sword spinning into the smoke. Taleisin cut at his neck, but the elf dropped, stabbed a dagger into the human's thigh.

Then Zevran spun away, turning his back to the assassin. Taleisin saw the easy target and lunged. He was overextended and slightly off balance for a moment, and in the next, pain exploded in his chest as a blade sank into his heart under his arm. The elf Warden slammed into him, pitching them both to the ground.

==#==

Taleisin was dead.

Zevran caught his breath, walled off old memories, old feelings, from his mind. Somehow this death was less painful than... well. It was all over now.

"Zevran? Zevran!" Bannon came over to him. "Are you all right?"

"Eh? Oh, _si_, I am fine." He stopped the other elf from frantically trying to bandage him up. "Really! Is nothing. I cut myself to look more wounded and hurt than I am."

Bannon gaped. "You cut -? In the middle of a- Are you nuts!?"

Zevran laughed. "I learned from the best liar and conman in Ferelden, did I not? Besides, you can bandage me up all you want, later." He waggled his brows.

Bannon rolled his eyes.

The elves surveyed the alley battlefield as the smoke cleared. There were a great number of frozen and shattered bodies.

"Ow!" yelled Alistair. He had chased a pair of assassins into a corner. And now he was stuck there, foot caught in a trap. "A little help here? Someone?" He yanked ineffectually at his leg.

"Go help him," said Bannon. "I'll find the rest of the traps."

"As you wish, _amore_." Zevran set off. He felt strangely elated. Yes, Taleisin was gone, but it had been in a fight, a real battle.

And now, the Crows had been defeated. They would send others after him, no doubt, but that would take some time. For now, he could breathe. He was free.

==#==

Bannon knelt and began working on a trap.

Morrigan came up behind him. "You've been avoiding me," she told him sternly.

"I have?" The trap he was working on suddenly snapped closed, raking his arm with its teeth before he could pull away. Bannon swore.

"Don't play coy with me. Just say what you're going to say, and get it over with."

The elf stood. "What is it you expect me to say?"

She folded her arms. "That you have passed me over so that you could be with some _man_." Bannon flushed and looked down. "Well that is a new one on me," Morrigan said bitterly.

"I thought we went over this," he said to her.

"You told me you cared for me. That under the right circumstances, we could be more than just close friends."

Helplessly, he shrugged, hands held out. "But-"

"No, don't try to explain," Morrigan snapped; "I see what's going on, here. You actually prefer a tawdry, cheap fling with that promiscuous whore rather than a serious relationship with me! You're a shallow, conniving bastard, and I don't know why I even thought you might care one whit about me!"

"I do care about you," he said placatingly. "Try to understand-"

"Oh, I understand perfectly! Don't bother with any more of your lies!"

==#==

"Hurry up," Alistair said. "My foot is falling asleep!"

"I am working as fast as I can," Zevran told him, knelt down and working his long blade between the trap's jaws. "Honestly, how you can step into one of these after we are done fighting is beyond me."

"Well, it's better than stepping in one _during_ a fight."

The sound of Morrigan's raised voice echoed down the street. The two men froze and looked in that direction. They couldn't make out the exact words, but the tone was quite clear. The two looked at each other.

"On second thought," said Alistair, "take your time, there."

Zevran paled. "Do you think she will kill him?"

"Well, she actually likes him. Or, eh, 'liked' I suppose might be more appropriate." Alistair winced as another volley of angry words started up. "On the other hand, she definitely hates you, so I would say that your life is actually in more danger. Slightly."

"Have you never heard the warning about 'a woman scorned'?"

"Okay. You're both doomed."

==#==

"You're a sneaky, underhanded, manipulating, liar! I should have known better than to trust a city elf! You're nothing but a street rat, looking out for your own mangy, flea-bitten hide!" Her eyes flashed with something feral. Her lips twisted into a snarl.

"I understand why you're angry..."

"Angry? Oh, you have not seen me _angry_," she threatened.

Bannon firmed up his voice. "We can discuss this when you've calmed down. Now if you are finished yelling, we have work to do." He brushed past her to rejoin their companions.

"Oh yes, _quite_ finished." Morrigan stalked after him.

==#==

They walked back to where Alistair and Zevran were standing, apparently studying the architecture of one of the building walls. Neither said anything. The elf dared to look around; he got skewered by Morrigan's glare.

"I'm sure you both got exactly what you deserve," she said icily.

==_X_==

* * *

End Notes:

_Two crows were hopping along the gutter. _  
-ever have this happen to you? i was walking through the grocery store back parking lot, when i suddenly saw a few crows just... hopping about, exactly like in the game!

_They walked back to where Alistair and Zevran were standing, apparently studying the architecture of one of the building walls._  
-i remember this happening in the game, too! we stop, and some of the party are looking at the walls. or... well. small elven bladders and all. :X


	19. Dinner with the Family

**Dinner with the Family**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: no  
Nudity: no  
Sex: discussed in general terms  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

And now for one of the FIRST chapters, written oh so many years ago... along with 'Life's Most Embarrassing Moments' and 'Assassining Can Be Fun' and all that. Whew! Probably the record for the longest time between original writing and posting. Oh, no wait... I wrote "Candy" way back when, and that is at the start of BOOK THREE! ::headdesk!::

Get a snack, this is LONG!

* * *

**Dinner with the Family**

==#==

Dinner time rolled around, so Zevran, Bannon, and Alistair dug deep into their packs to try to find something to wear that wasn't armored. Wynne stood fussing outside the door. "Honestly!" she exclaimed. "You men take longer to get dressed than a dozen schoolgirls on their first date."

"Well it's easy for you," Alistair whined. "You just have robes to wear. Has anyone seen a pair of my socks that match?"

"You have socks that match?" Zevran quipped.

Just before they left, Alistair pulled Bannon aside. "Listen," he said, "would you mind terribly if..." He chewed his lip. "I don't know everything you've told your family, but it would really mean a lot to me if I could just be plain old Alistair tonight. Not 'challenger to the throne' Alistair," he said in a mocking, doom-laden voice. "Or 'prince-apparent Alistair.' Or 'bastard vying to be king' Alistair, or anything like that."

Bannon grinned. "I only said you're my friend and a Grey Warden. Though... I thought it would give them some prestige to have had the future king as a guest, but I suppose they'd be more comfortable with just 'perfectly normal nothing to see here' Alistair."

"Thanks," Alistair said, releasing a pent breath. "This means a lot to me."

==#==

They came to the alienage gate as the sun was setting. The gate guard ushered them along, as it was time for the gate to be closed for evening curfew. Alistair was nervous, as he was the only one unarmed, and without his plate armor to boot. Bannon told him to relax.

Cyrian's apartment was not far from the gate, and they arrived without incident. Bannon made introductions all around, to his father Cyrian, Shianni, and even Soris was there. Cyrian welcomed them and shook Alistair's hand. "I'm sorry we don't have more proper accommodations for you," he said to the humans.

"Think nothing of that," Wynne said. "Both Alistair and I come from simple folk. You have no idea what a relief it is to be treated as no one special."

"_No_ idea," Alistair agreed heartily.

"We would be most honored," said Zevran sincerely, "if you would treat us as you would your own family."

"But," said Shianni, "you're Grey Wardens! And you're a mage, from the Circle..."

"My dear," Wynne replied, "Just because I live in a tower, doesn't make me a princess."

Cyrian laughed and motioned them all to take seats. Bannon brought out the bounty of liquor bottles they had as everyone settled in. He poured everyone a glass of wine.

"A toast!" called Cyrian. "To the safe return of my son, now and always."

Everyone raised his glass, Soris only reluctantly. Bannon added, "And to us all, in these dangerous times." He looked pointedly at his cousin, who refused to meet his gaze.

They drank and set their glasses down. Zevran said to Cyrian, "I understand your _hahren_ was taken by those Tevinter dogs. I am sorry for your loss."

"We've lost so many," Cyrian replied glumly.

Bannon asked, "Have they decided on someone to take the office?"

"Well, there was talk of appointing you." Cyrian looked his son in the eye.

"Huh? Me?"

His father nodded. "You're a Grey Warden. And you've travelled far, and... well," he added with a smile, "one hopes you've picked up some wisdom on the way."

Bannon stammered. "I-I couldn't. I mean... I'm not even old!"

Zevran and Alistair laughed. Alistair said, "Oh, here we go, a reluctant victim stuck in political office." Bannon gave him an evil look.

Cyrian shook his head. "You don't have to be old to be the elder. Besides, do you know of anyone better qualified?"

"'Anyone' _would_ be better qualified," Bannon insisted. Frantically, his thoughts raced, his eyes darted as if searching for an escape route. Suddenly, he looked up. "What about Shianni?"

"Me?" she sputtered, twice as startled as he had been.

"Who was out there telling people, 'don't listen to those Tevinter charlatans' and 'go home to take care of your families'?"

She stared at him wide-eyed. "Yeah, but nobody _listens_ to me!"

"Maybe they should," said Zevran.

Shianni looked at him, flustered. She excused herself from the table. "Look, I have to check on the goose. It should be almost done."

"Let me help you," said Wynne, also rising.

"Oh, no; I couldn't," she said quickly. "You're our guest."

Wynne waved that off. "Oh, posh. Now is a good time to escape to the kitchen and let the men get on with their tedious 'men talk.'" She winked, then accompanied the grateful woman into the other room.

==#==

Shianni bustled around the cramped kitchen, fussing over the pots on the stove and the goose cooking in the oven. Wynne stood back out of her way in one corner. She said, "It's a great honor to finally meet you. Everyone in your family is so brave."

"You mean Bannon and Soris?" Shianni towards the mage. "He told you what happened?" She looked aside, one arm unconsciously crossed over her stomach.

"I mean you," Wynne said. "I understand you thwarted that bastard in his first attempt to abduct the women. Unarmed too, and you knocked him out cold."

Shianni smiled a moment, then it crumbled. She sniffled. "I shouldn't have done that."

Wynne stepped to her. "Don't ever say that!" she said harshly. "Never say you shouldn't stand up for what you believe in. And especially never believe that!"

The elf cringed, and Wynne softened her voice. "I'm sorry, Shianni. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"I'm always frightened, now. No one respects me. No one listens." She squeezed her eyes shut. "It's just Shianni, the damaged one. The trouble-maker who got what she deserved, and got everyone else killed, too. The meekling. I should have died in the Purge."

"You know that's not true," Wynne said. "Bannon's told us about what a spirited woman you are. You are _not_ meek."

"That was before." Silent tears ran down her face. "I- I tried to fight them. But they were too strong. Th-There were too many..." Her voice broke.

Wynne put her arm around the elf's shoulders, and Shianni huddled against her. "You're stronger than that," the mage told her.

"No, I'm not."

"They're gone, but you're still here," Wynne told her firmly. "And you're still looking out for your people, trying to keep them from harm. They could never break your spirit."

Shianni looked up at her. "But I am afraid. I'm afraid of men. I can't stand to be touched. I... It still hurts, inside."

"Did you see a healer when you came back?"

The elf shook her head. "We don't have that kind of money. I just stayed in my bed for days. And then there was the riot... and they started taking people away..."

"Shianni, i'm a healer. Will you let me help you?"

"I don't know what you could do, now." She hung her head.

"I don't either," Wynne admitted. "But I do have a strong spirit." Shianni nodded, and Wynne put her hands over the girl's stomach. Closing her eyes, she let the spirit's healing magic flow through her hands. In her mind's eye, she saw the blue glow of power overcoming the blackened and broken places within Shianni's own body and spirit.

Shianni gasped as the gentling power flowed over her. She looked down as Wynne withdrew her hands. "I feel..." She looked up into the mage's eyes. "Sweet Andraste, I feel whole again. as if... something within me were missing. How can I ever thank you?"

Wynne smiled gently. "By doing what you are best at, and protecting your people."

"Do you think I could really become _hahren?_ Will... will I be able to have children?"

"You should try to take things slowly, but you must know Shianni: you can do whatever it is you put your mind to."

A smile illuminated the elf's clouded face. "Thank you. Thank you! Thank you, your... ladyship - I don't even know how to address you properly."

"Oh, please! 'Wynne' will do just fine." The mage smiled. "And let's not burn that goose, or we'll never hear the end of it."

"Men _can_ complain endlessly, can't they?"

"And that's the Maker's truth!"

==#==

Soris gulped down his wine. "So, cousin," he said darkly. "Are you finally going to explain why you left me to rot in the arl's dungeon?"

Cyrian shot him a warning look. "Soris!"

"No," said Bannon. "He has a right to be angry." He looked at his hands for a moment, then met his cousin's accusatory stare. "I let you down, Soris. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" He coughed out a bitter laugh. "That's it?"

"What else do you want me to say?"

"How about you give me a reason!" Soris banged the table with his fist. "I was counting on you to come and get me out! You were so gung-ho to go rescue the women, I figured that would be a piece of cake to you, but no! You never came! Well, why the hell not?"

Bannon folded his hands on the table. "Duncan pulled me out of the guard's clutches with that 'Right of Conscription.' I begged him to do the same for you, but he wouldn't. Then he dragged me off to Ostagar."

"Oh, he dragged you," Soris drawled. "Physically? Because it seems to me you should have been able to give him the slip easily. Did you even try?"

"I thought they took you to Fort Drakon," Bannon answered, looking at his hands. "I didn't think there was anything more I could do."

Soris threw up his hands. "So you _didn't_ try. thanks a lot, cousin," he snarled. "You didn't even try to find out where they took me."

"When we came to Denerim, the Alienage was sealed off! They wouldn't let us in. No one would tell me what was going on; what had happened," Bannon said desperately. "All I heard was that there was a riot. Andraste's Tits, Soris, i thought they had executed you!"

Cyrian cleared his throat. "Language at the dinner table," he warned.

Bannon looked directly at Soris. "You have no idea how glad I am that you are alive." Soris looked away. "I know you are bitter. I don't blame you."

"You should be glad you're alive," Alistair said.

"Don't patronize me, _shem_," Soris spit back at him.

"Soris!" Cyrian barked. "Please try to act in a civilized manner while you are under my roof."

The elf helped himself to more wine. "I just don't see why anyone thinks he's a hero. All this bloodshed and suffering; they're all his fault."

"I don't understand," Bannon said. "Duncan took me away, and you were in custody. We were the ones who killed Vaughn. Why was there a purge?"

Soris laughed humorlessly. "Why do you think? The new arl came in, and he didn't believe only the two of us could have taken on Vaughn and all his trained guards." He gulped his wine too quickly. "They tortured me for the names of our conspirators."

"And you told them what?" Zevran asked pointedly.

"They were torturing me, for Andraste's sake! I don't know what I said! I just started saying names, hoping they would stop!"

Bannon paled. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing to him," Zevran said harshly. "It is his own weakness that has caused this. There was nothing you could do."

"I should have done something." Bannon hung his head.

Soris drained the rest of his wine and thumped the glass down on the table. "Yeah, you should have."

"All right," Cyrian snapped. "Soris, i'm sorry you have suffered, But we _all_ have. I don't want to see my kin fighting. I don't want to see any of us fighting each other. This subject is closed."

"Yes, Uncle."

"Alistair, Zevran," said Cyrian, "I apologize for my family's bad behavior on what should be a pleasant occasion."

"Don't worry about it," Alistair said cheerily. "That's what families are for - to embarrass you at the big get-togethers."

Zevran shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I didn't have much of a family."

"Are you an orphan?" Cyrian asked.

"Not exactly."

Before Zevran could launch into a lurid tale of his checkered past, the kitchen door opened. "Dinner's ready!" Shianni sang out, bringing the goose out in its pan, her hands covered with thick, mis-matched oven mitts. Wynne followed up with the vegetables. The small elven home was filled with the sounds of a big dinner being served: plates clattering, portions being passed, admiration given to the cook and her creations. Cyrian carved the goose, and served everyone a generous portion.

"Andraste's Blessing on our meal," the head of household said. "Her blessing on our family and our friends." He smiled. "Well, we don't stand much on ceremony, so let's eat!"

They ate companionably in silence for a while. Soris poured himself some more wine. "So, Bannon," he said, swallowing a chunk of meat and washing it down, "There's been this rumor about you going around the Alienage."

Cyrian choked, and Shianni rolled her eyes. "Oh, please."

Alistair and Wynne looked up with mild curiosity. Bannon looked across the table as well. Zevran said, "Do tell about this rumor. I hope it is a juicy one."

"It's nothing," Cyrian growled.

"No, no," Soris insisted. "He's right here, we can ask him."

"Ask me what?" Bannon asked guilelessly.

"They say you've been seen kissing another man."

Alistair choked on his carrots.

"I know!" Shianni said, "Isn't that ridiculous?"

Zevran said, "You have to be kidding. In Ferelden, this is a big rumor? Hah, in Antiva, no one would bat an eyelash until they had been seen at least running naked through the streets together."

Bannon put a hand over his face. "Zevran!"

"What? Is true! Then they leap into a fountain and swim about until the city guard fishes them out." He paused thoughtfully. "But you don't seem to have fountains here in ferelden."

"Ice," Bannon explained to him in an undertone.

"Ah."

"He was seen," Soris growled, not to be derailed, "kissing a man who looks a lot like _you_," he accused the Antivan.

"Soris," said Shianni, "have you considered the source of this rumor? Orsen is old, and he's blind as a bat!"

"Zack says he saw it too!"

Shianni rolled her eyes. "Zack will believe anything that anyone tells him. He still believes he saw a dragonling swimming in the river that one time!"

Bannon laughed. "Definitely a rotten cabbage."

Soris frowned. "You still didn't answer the question."

"Hello?" Shianni said. "This is _Bannon_ we're talking about here. Am I the only one who remembers how many girlfriends he's had?"

"Oh ho," said Zevran. "Quite the lady-killer are you? I just hope you haven't had more than I. I would be very put out."

"At least five!" Shianni assured him.

"Oh, only five; is that all?" The Antivan seemed quite relieved.

"That she knows of," Bannon said out the side of his mouth.

"Do tell!"

"Don't worry," Bannon assured him. "Nobody could ever top you."

"Who was worried?"

Alistair just kept laughing.

"This is serious," insisted Soris.

"It is not," Cyrian said. "It's a ridiculous rumor. It should not be repeated, and it should die a swift death."

Wynne asked him, "Do you have a lot of that here? I mean, men being together."

"Certainly not," he answered.

"Oh, we have plenty in Antiva," Zevran said. "It is not a big deal."

"Well, we have decent folk here," Cyrian insisted. "Mostly. The few disreputable elements keep to themselves." He shrugged.

Soris narrowed his eyes at Bannon. "You didn't want to get married to Nesiara."

"So? You didn't want to get married to Valora. You said she squeaked like a mouse. I thought she was rather nice, actually."

"I'm sure you'll both find yourselves fine wives," said Cyrian. "Someday. I hope."

"Maybe when I'm ready to settle down," Bannon said vaguely.

"That's settled, then" his father said. "Another unpleasant topic of conversation can be closed." He shot Soris a pointed look.

"Fine." Soris wolfed down the rest of his food. "If you'll excuse me, I have things to do." He took one of the bottles, and without bothering to wait for formalities or goodbyes, he left.

"Well, for a new topic," said Alistair, "How about this gravy? This is fantastic! What's your secret?"

"Oh, that special taste is the dead cat that's been rotting out in the back alley for a week," Shianni told him.

Alistair spit out a mouthful and started choking.

"Shianni!" Cyrian scolded.

"I'm sorry!" She covered her mouth with her hand and struggled not to laugh. "I'm sorry, that's just a bit of Alienage humor."

Alistair coughed some more, grabbed his wineglass and gulped a mouthful. He laughed. "That's all right, you got me good, there." He grinned over at Bannon. "Just like the little sister I always wanted," he said in mock drollness.

Shianni laughed aloud, still lightly covering her mouth. "Well, it's just my mother's recipe. no cat ingredients, I promise."

==#==

They finished eating and set the dishes aside for later. Bannon produced a jug of dwarven ale, and they sat around drinking. Shianni said, "Why don't you tell us about some of your adventures?"

"Mm!" said Alistair, raising one finger while he swallowed. "Tell them about that assassin they sent to kill us."

"They sent an assassin after you?" Shianni gasped.

Alistair nodded through another gulp. Bannon said, "Oh yeah, remember that guy?"

"So arrogant!" Wynne chimed in.

"So annoying," Alistair agreed heartily.

Zevran just stared. Bannon laughed and started spinning his yarn. "Yes, he was so cocky! 'I am the Antivan Crow, the master assassin sent to kill you - prepare to die!'" Alistair started giggling, and Shianni laughed. "And we were like, 'You think so?' Swish! Whomp! Whomp!" Bannon pantomimed a battle with one hand, and a great many sound effects. "Wham! smack! 'Oh, and by the way,'" he said, holding out his hand with a flourish, "'here's your butt.'"

Alistair roared with laughter. Wynne doubled over and had to set her mug on the table lest she spill it. Zevran tried to protest, but they couldn't hear him for laughing so hard.

"No no no," the Antivan insisted. "I do not recall it going like that."

"I was there," said Alistair, "and that's _exactly_ how it went!" He howled and pounded the table with one hand. "'Oh, by the way, here's your butt!'" he said to Wynne. Her laughter redoubled, and she started turning red in the face.

Bannon turned to Zevran. "I think you were unconscious for the most part. You _do_ remember being tied up, I know that."

"That would be the 'here's your butt' part," Alistair told him, breaking up with more laughter.

"Wait," said Shianni; "_you_ were the assassin?"

"Yes, _carita_." Zevran touched his heart and bowed his head. "Guilty as charged."

"If that's so," Cyrian said, reining in his own laughter, "How is it that you're with them now?"

"I am often surprised at the strange twists and turns fate can take. Plus, I am very lucky." He grinned and sipped his ale. "But I think Alistair said it best when he said... what did you say? 'If there is a huge sign reading 'we are desperate,' it has just knocked on our door.'"

They laughed again. Wynne sat back in her chair, gasping for breath. "Dear spirits!"

"All right, wait," Shianni said to Zevran, "why were you trying to kill them?"

He shrugged. "Is my job."

"You just... what? Switched sides?"

Zevran said, "Yes, actually, I did just switch sides. Although I worked for the Crows, I was still a slave. A highly paid and privileged slave, but nonetheless..." He shrugged. "I figured if the Grey Wardens could defeat the best the Antivan Crows had to send against them, then I would be safe from those selfsame Crows if i joined them. Happily, this has been true so far."

She looked at Bannon. "Why would you trust someone sent to kill you?"

He smiled. "Oh, we didn't; not at first. But Zevran pledged to serve me loyally, and as long as he continues to do so..." He turned one hand up. "He hasn't failed us yet."

"Nor would I dream of doing so. The Crows sent another assassin after me, and well it was: swish swish, clang clang, and here's your butt!" He grinned evilly.

They laughed and drank, except Wynne, who fanned herself. Then Cyrian asked, "Did you meet any Dalish elves?" The group all nodded. "What are they really like?"

"Definitely different," Bannon said. "I don't know, just... free, I suppose. A little wild. Like wolves, I guess." He set his mug down and stood up. "Zev, entertain them with some of our exploits there. I need to visit..." He gestured vaguely off to the back of the apartment.

"Certainly!" The Antivan smiled. He leaned forward over the table. "The Dalish were under attack by ferocious beasts...," he began the lurid tale. Slowly he revealed each new challenge, like the opening of a rose's petals, in turn. Even Alistair hung on his every word, and Shianni gasped at the revelation of the crux of the matter.

Bannon returned as he was finishing the tale. Cyrian said, "You were gone a while, you all right?" Bannon nodded and smiled at his father.

"It must be something to live among the Dales," Shianni said. "Out in the open spaces."

"I'm a city elf, myself," Zevran said. "The outdoors is just so full of dirt!"

"Me too," said Bannon. "I kept getting lost in all those trees and twisted paths."

Cyrian chuckled. "I agree; i like my city just fine."

Alistair said, "Wouldn't you like it better, though, without the Alienage wall?"

The elf wrinkled his brow. "I don't think so. Take down the wall?" He shook his head. "It keeps us safe from the outside."

"No it doesn't, Uncle," Shianni said. "It keeps us trapped in here, where the _shems_ can do anything they want to us. Uh..." She looked sheepishly at the humans. "Sorry."

Wynne said, "No need to be sorry, dear. It is sadly true."

"If you think it is bad now, imagine how much worse it would be if there were no walls at all," Cyrian insisted. "Nothing to stop them from coming into our town, walking on our streets. Maker knows what they'd do to our tree."

"But don't you feel imprisoned here?" Alistair asked.

"Not really."

"Dad," Bannon said, "If there was no wall, you could go where you liked, live wherever you wanted."

"Go live out in the human neighborhoods? You know Karson and Shelia tried that. They couldn't come back fast enough." He quaffed his ale and shook his head again. "They were alone against the humans, and made _very_ unwelcome. They were better off with all of us, here."

Wynne said, "They say a gilded cage is still a cage. And no offense, Cyrian, but the Alienage is hardly what I would call 'gilded.'"

"We live just fine," the carpenter insisted. "We don't need fancy clothing and fancy houses."

"We don't need privacy and breathing space and roofs that don't leak, either," Shianni added bitterly.

"It's not that bad," said Cyrian. "We are a close-knit community. We take care of our own."

Bannon said, "It isn't bad at all. Especially compared to Dust Town. Remember that place?" He grinned and Zevran nodded. "That was a real sh- uh, er, craphole," he said, mindful of his father's repeated insistence on civilized language at the dinner table.

"What's Dust Town?" asked Shianni.

"A place in Orzammar, the dwarven kingdom," Bannon told her. "The dwarves live underground inside a mountain, you see. And up at the top lives the king, and the nobles and all. And then in the middle are the different working castes, like warriors and smiths, merchants and servants. And then below them lives the criminal caste."

He paused to wet his throat with ale. Alistair told Shianni, "The dwarves have a caste system. It's like different levels of society, and whatever you are born as, you stay that way your whole life."

Bannon nodded. "But it's crazy, because they can marry other castes. And then the children, what caste they are? That depends on if they are a boy or a girl. See, if a warrior marries a servant... okay, if the wife is a servant, all the daughters would be servants. But the sons would be warriors."

"That's not fair," said Shianni.

Zevran said, "Well, it could be the other way around. The wife could be the warrior, and the husband could be the servant."

"Then the boys are servants and the girls are warriors?"

"Just so."

Shianni shook her head. "That's just crazy."

"That's dwarves for you," Bannon said. "The worst thing is, that any criminals? They get branded, here on the face." He nodded as Shianni winced. "And then they have no caste. So they can't get a job or do any work. They have to live in Dust Town under the city.

"And then," he went on, "if they have children? The babies are branded and they are in the criminal caste too."

"That's horrid," said Shianni.

"Yes, it is," Wynne agreed.

"And then, since they are branded as criminal caste, they can't get jobs; nobody will hire them. So they have to rob and steal, or beg... and then the other dwarves complain that the criminals only ever rob, steal, and beg!"

"As if there is anything else they could do," Zevran added. To Bannon he said, "I think you have had your fill of that dwarven meade, my friend."

"What? Didn't I explain that eloquently?" Bannon fixed him with a crooked stare.

"I've heard better from you."

Bannon looked to his father. "You understand my point?"

"Yes, I think I do," the elder said thoughtfully.

Wynne finished the last of her mug and set it down. "Well, it's been a lovely evening, Cyrian, but I think I'd better get the boys home before i need a wheelbarrow to cart them in."

"But there's more ale," Bannon insisted.

"Yeah," Alistair echoed.

"Wynne can hold her ale," Zevran said, "but you two, you wouldn't last three rounds of Antivan brandy."

"It's called lady-like sips," Wynne retorted.

"I'll drink to that," Zevran replied, draining his glass.

Cyrian stood. "I think Wynne is right. I'm sure the Grey Wardens have a lot of work they need to be clear-headed to do tomorrow."

Alistair groaned. "Don't remind me."

"But we haven't told you about the golem," Bannon said.

"Next time," his father insisted. At this, the rest of the company pushed back their chairs and stood, getting ready to leave. "Just one moment," said Cyrian. "I told you I had something for you..."

He went into the back room, and came out a few minutes later with a sheathed dagger. He went to Bannon. "This was your mother's. I- well, I should have thought to give it to you before you left, but everything happened so quickly."

Bannon slowly drew the dagger from its sheath, watching it shine in the lamplight. Zevran said quietly, "It is a very fine blade."

"I know I've never been very... supportive of your mother's talents," Cyrian told his son. "And Andraste knows I tried to discourage you from following in her footsteps, but..." He shook his head. "When I saw you pop that lock on that slave cage, I have never been more grateful to her than that moment." He smiled.

Bannon sheathed the dagger. "Thanks, Dad," he said rather huskily.

The two embraced. "I'm proud of you, son," Cyrian told him.

"I, uh... don't know what to say."

"Well, that's a first," said Shianni. She came over to Bannon. "It was good to see you, cousin." She hugged him and, somewhat surprised, he hugged her back. "Thank you so much for everything."

"I... well, you're welcome," he stammered.

Cyrian shook Zevran's hand, then Alistair's. "Thank you for coming." They thanked him for having them over.

Wynne said, "Cyrian, it was a pleasure meeting you, and your fine family. Shianni, thank you for the wonderful meal."

"You're welcome. And thank you, Wynne. Here, let me walk you out." She went out the door with them.

Bannon turned to her. "You take care of yourself, all right? And tell Soris..." he faltered. "Well... maybe when he's ready to hear it, you can tell him I'm glad he's home."

"You can tell him," Shianni said. "I'm just sorry he's being such a-"

"It's all right, I understand." Bannon sighed sadly. "It's my fault they took him away."

"No, it isn't," she insisted. "Being outside really _has_ changed you."

"What do you mean?"

She raised her brows. "Taking responsibility for something bad happening? That's not like you. I think you've grown up," she told him frankly.

"What?" He touched his temples. "Are my eyes wrinkled? Am I getting grey hair?"

Shianni smiled. "Oh, stop." She nudged him on his way. "Get going."

"If you need anything - anything at all- just send me a message at Arl Eamon's estate."

"We will." Shianni lightly touched Zevran's arm as he turned to go. "Will you come back to see us soon?"

The Antivan turned back and looked into her face. She seemed about to step back from him, but then firmed her resolve. Zevran smiled sadly. He took her hand and bowed over it, giving her knuckles a soft kiss. "Alas, _carita_, it is not to be." He straightened, but did not release her hand. "I am a terribly disreputable man. And if should even cast the most spurious of glances in your vague direction, your very gallant cousin would put out my eyes and unman me with a spoon. Not necessarily in that order."

"I'm thinking of exactly that now," Bannon called back to them.

Zevran grinned sheepishly. "You see? He misses nothing! I wish you all the best, _carita_." He loosed her hand and turned to follow his companions.

"I think she likes me," the Antivan said shamelessly.

"Of course," Bannon replied; "she has good taste."

"Do you think-?"

"Zev," Bannon told him succinctly, "Family. off limits."

"I understand completely."

They passed the inner gate and started across the bridge. Alistair said, "Your family is the greatest!"

Bannon told him, "You're drunk."

"Doesn't matter. They're wonderful." A dreamy expression covered his face.

"They are indeed, _amore'_," Zevran agreed.

"Oh, and you," Alistair said to Zevran, "every time you start teasing me, I'm going to say, 'oh by the way, here's your butt!'"

Zevran slapped a palm to his face. "Why did you tell that story?"

Bannon shook his head, then looked at Wynne. "Did you talk to Shianni?"

She nodded. "Yes, I did. She'll be just fine, Bannon." She smiled.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Wynne."

Alistair stopped and turned back. "Listen, guys. For what it's worth... I'm sorry you couldn't tell your family."

"It's all right." Bannon shrugged.

Zevran pursed his lips. "I thought you did not approve of such relationships."

"No," said Alistair. "I mean- no! It's not that. It's just..." He fidgeted, trying to think. "I don't... _mind_ or anything, I just... find it weird. I'm sorry, it's just too weird for me. That doesn't mean I don't want you to be happy. I mean... you are my friends."

"Seriously?" said Zevran.

"Uh, well, you know. Barring the trying to kill me and all."

"Very well, I accept!" The Antivan sketched him a flourished bow. "To honor our friendship, I vow never to tease you again."

"That's very- hey! Wait... I finally figure out how to get back at you, and now you won't tease me any more?"

"Oh, no; that would not be proper, my good friend."

"But friends tease each other all the time," Alistair cried. "I like it when you tease me."

Zevran coughed into his hand, trying so hard not to laugh. Wynne chuckled in her throat as Zevran teased Alistair so mercilessly, the knight was begging to be treated badly. The two continued all the way to the gate, where Alistair called for the gatekeeper to let them out.

Bannon trailed behind, lost in his own thoughts. He took the earring out of his pocket and stared down at it. Zevran moved closer to him, until their hands bumped. Bannon looked over at him a moment, then clasped the Antivan's hand with his own.

==#==

They ducked out of the gate, and Bannon whispered something to Zevran, then slipped away. The other elf frowned after him in puzzlement.

Zevran followed Wynne and Alistair to Arl Eamon's estate. Alistair rang for the doorman to let them in. "You wait for that," the elf told them. "I'll just use the servants' entrance. Oh, and look, here's the servants' latrine facilities." He took a left off to a dilapidated bush by the corner of the building.

"Zevran...," Wynne's voice floated across the courtyard. "I see you quite clearly!"

"Oh...! Wynne! You know how I hate that!"

"Yes I do, so now behave like a civilized elf and use the proper facilities inside."

Groaning a litany of complaints, Zevran shuffled after her. Arms folded, she waited for him. "But Wynne," he whined, "Alistair will get there first, and I will have to wait outside the door all that time...!" He made sad eyes at her.

Relentless, she shook her head. "Don't try that on me, young man. Now get inside!" Still groaning and hanging his head, Zevran did so. "I swear," Wynne said to herself, "How I came to be mother hen to these three I'll never know!" She caught up to Zevran. "Where's Bannon?"

"He said he had to do something."

"You don't know where he went?" She threw up her hands as the elf just shrugged. "I'll tell the doorman to keep an eye out for him."

==#==

Getting ready for bed, Wynne put on her nightgown and loosed her hair. She bent to turn down the coverlet on her cot, when she was startled nearly out of her skin by a sudden presence.

"Wynne!" Zevran whispered, moving silently even in his boots.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded in a strained whisper, hoping not to wake Leliana and Morrigan whose cots were nearby. "I might not have been decent."

Oddly, Zevran did not seem distracted by that thought. "I need your help. I- something has happened."

"What is it? Is it Bannon? Is he ill?"

The elf shook his head. "It's not him. It is me. I feel... it's... I feel something. For him."

Wynne sat down on the edge of her cot, the near panic draining out of her. "You're in love with him? And you're just now figuring that out?" She rubbed her forehead.

Leliana stirred and half sat up. "Wynne?" she asked sleepily. "What is going on? Who is there?"

"Nothing, dear," the mage told her. "Go back to sleep."

The bard's eyelids drooped, and she lay back down.

Zevran knelt down beside Wynne, the look on his face desperate. "This is a disaster of epic proportions! Don't you remember what you said? The Blight and the Archdemon and the end of the world as we know it?"

She sighed, praying for patience. "Don't you remember what you said? You have to take life's pleasures where you can, while you are still able. You two have grown so close, and I think you have both benefited from it."

"But everyone I love dies," he replied.

Her demeanor softened. "Everyone dies," she said gently. "It isn't because you love them."

"They die faster when I kill them," Zevran replied miserably. He ducked his head, trying to hide his tears.

Wynne bit her lip. Softly, she caressed his head. "That won't happen."

"But..."

"It won't, Zevran. you're a free man, now." She lifted his chin, then touched his shoulder firmly. "You don't have to do those things any more."

His body trembled under her hand. Cautiously, she leaned closer and pulled him against her shoulder, and held him in a comforting embrace. "It'll be all right." He tensed, and she felt his jaw muscle clenching as he tried to contain his emotion. Wynne tried not to shy away. She recalled what Bannon had said; that Zevran may never have been held this way, not even as a child. Her heart softened. Who could deny anyone such comfort?

After a few silent minutes, the elf regained control of his voice. "His family... his father loves him so much." Zevran moved back out of her embrace. "They don't like me," he said glumly.

"They don't know you," Wynne replied.

He shook his head and rose to his feet, not looking at her. "I know what I must do. Thank you, my dear sweet angel." He bowed low, gracefully, then departed as silently as he had come.

==#==

The armorer's was closed for the night, but Bannon could see a candle in the upstairs apartment. A little reconnoitering - _not_ 'casing the joint' - led him to the back stairs. He climbed and knocked at the door and waited, still not sure in his drink-befuddled mind what he was doing. He slipped the earring out of his pocket again.

The door opened and Wade, shirtless, was silhouetted in the light. Bannon hadn't realized it when the human had been wearing his blowsy shirts, but he had the arms and chest of a blacksmith. Rather impressive, until he turned a bit more and the raking light caught the forest of dark hair across his torso.

"Warden?" Wade said.

"Yes, Wade. Hi." Bannon was glad this didn't turn out to be Herren's apartment. "Um, I need a... sort of a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

"It's... I need someone with a leather punch."

Wade's eyebrows went up.

Bannon held up the earring.

"Oh! Oh, that's no trouble at all." The armorer looked around a minute, then said, "You might as well come in."

He stepped back, and Bannon followed.

"Herren," Wade called. "Warden Bannon is here."

"What?" came Herren's voice, less constrained than it was during the day. "Why's he-?" Herren appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. "Why are you here?"

"Uh...," Bannon stammered.

"He needs a piercing," Wade explained, as if that sort of thing was a nightly occurrence.

Bannon was stuck staring at Herren's naked torso, his hastily-thrown-on pants low on his hips. What? Wade and Herren? In Ferelden? _What?_

Finally, a portion of his brain rose up and kicked the rest of it in the ass. _Of course you don't hear about it in Ferelden! Where it's considered bad, wrong, taboo. Doesn't mean it doesn't exist._

And that meant Bannon was _not_ alone. Not an anomaly. Had he seen signs of it all along and hadn't realized? Still dazed, he followed Wade and Herren downstairs into the armory. Wade scurried about in a flurry, looking for just the right tool, fussing up a storm.

Herren took Bannon to a chair and offered him a bottle. The elf took it gratefully. "Thanks. Has uh... Has he done this before?"

"Oh, yes," Herren reassured him. "Wade... don't take all night."

"Nonsense, Herren. You cannot rush _art_. It has to be set up perfectly."

"It's just a little hole," his partner complained. "It doesn't require a big production."

Bannon took a long pull on the bottle. This was no time to have second thoughts. "Why do you do that?" he quietly asked Herren.

"Do what?"

"You're always putting him down. Don't you care about him?"

"I..." The human frowned. "It's not like that. He's..." He looked over at Wade, gestured with a flip of one arm. "He needs a bit of tempering, of practicality. It's his nature. I'm his anchor."

"You hold him down?"

"No, I..."

"Why don't you support him?"

"I do." Herren pursed his lips.

"You could be nicer." Bannon put the bottle back to his lips to stop them from carrying on. Really, it was none of his business.

Wade brought over a lamp, a brazier, a portable table with cleaning cloths and some tools. "Really, Herren, if you ever got one of these done... What do you expect? For me to just pop over and stick you like a pig being tagged for market?"

"No, Wade," Herren said softly. "You're right."

Wade looked up and blinked a moment. Then he smiled. "I... well. Of course." He looked at Bannon. "Is everything to your satisfaction? Herren gave you the good stuff, didn't he?"

"I... uh, yeah. It's good. Thank you." Bannon drunkenly saluted the other man as well. "Thank you."

Wade heated up an awl over the brazier, then began polishing it with a clean cloth. The awl looked far too huge in Bannon's wide eyes. "Now..." The armorer smiled gently. "Where do you want it?"

==#==

Alistair was passed out on his side of the bed. Zevran lay awake, waiting for Bannon. he stared at the ceiling, barely visible in the dark, and tried not to think.

At last, the door swung quietly open, allowing faint lamplight in. Bannon came inside and closed it, as silent on his feet as an assassin. He pulled his shirt off and tossed it on the chair, then sat on the edge of the bed to pull his boots off.

"Your family means a great deal to you," Zevran said softly. "I understand completely if you wish to end our relationship now."

Bannon looked over his shoulder. "No, Zevran." He swung his legs up under the coverlet and lay back. "I don't expect I'll be seeing them much from now on. I can't go back to living there."

Zevran propped himself up on one elbow, staring down at him - not at these words, but at what he saw. The light was very dim, but there was no mistaking the glitter of the tiny jewels of the earring. The Antivan's mouth dropped open, because it was clasped through Bannon's left nipple. "When did you get that done?" he breathed.

"That's where I was just now," Bannon replied tiredly.

"Where did you get that done?" Zevran asked, mind spinning.

"Over at Wade's."

"The armorer?" His eyebrows went up. Finally, he could take his eye off the ring and look into Bannon's face. "_Why _did you do it?"

"Don't read too much into it," said Bannon. "I'm drunk. I'll probably regret it in the morning." He laid his left forearm over his eyes.

Zevran stared at him for several more minutes. His face wrinkled in sorrow.

Bannon lifted his arm and looked at him sidewise. "It's just a joke, Zev. Go to sleep."

The Antivan lay back down, and resumed staring at the ceiling. Eventually, sleep overcame him, but he tossed restlessly.

==_X_==


	20. The Landsmeet

**The Landsmeet**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: possibly  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

it might help if I knew what I was doing in this chapter... "let me check my notes."

oh look, an eponymous chapter in this chapter. i'm so clever! :X

* * *

**The Landsmeet**

==#==

In Zevran's dream, he saw an elven family: poor, living in a run down tenement, but happy together. They gathered around the small table, jostling elbows at dinner, laughing and talking. He reached out towards them.

"That's not for you," a woman's voice said from somewhere above him.

He looked up, expecting to see his mother. Instead, a hideously ugly hag bent over him. Her hair was oiled and perfumed so strongly, he gagged. Her wide, fleshy lips were painted garish red. She seized his wrist. He was six years old again, and she began dragging him down the long, dark-panelled hall.

==#==

Zevran thrashed, kicking Alistair soundly in the kidneys. "No, don't! Please don't!"

"Zevran!" Bannon grabbed him by the arm and shook him.

With a cry, the Antivan awoke. "Help me!"

"It's all right," Bannon told him; "We're right here. It's all right."

"Owwww...," moaned Alistair.

Zevran lay back, panting. Bannon stroked his hair to calm him down. "There, there, easy... I suppose this is payback for all the nightmares we keep waking you with," Bannon said gently with a smile. Zevran relaxed in his presence. "What were you dreaming?"

He shrugged. "Just typical, normal, everyday nightmares," the Antivan replied. "Rats eating your face off and suchlike. It was nothing."

"Good." Bannon glanced up to make sure Alistair had passed out again, then he softly kissed Zevran. "Go back to sleep, love." He lay on his side, snuggling close, one hand resting on Zevran's stomach.

Zevran laid his own hand over Bannon's, and tried to find rest again.

==#==

Early in the morning, dawn's grey light had barely filtered into the sleeping chambers when Zevran slipped into the room where the women were sleeping and crouched by Wynne's cot. He poked her arm roughly and hissed her name.

She groaned and cracked one eye open. "Dear spirits, now what?"

"Something has happened, and I don't know what it means," the assassin explained to her. "I don't know what to do."

"What?" asked Wynne, feeling she was going to regret it.

"I gave Bannon a ring - an earring to be precise. Now he is wearing it."

Wynne pried both eyes open and sat up. "Well, why did you give it to him?"

"I don't know," he hedged. "It was a whim really. It was just a trinket I had from my first assignment. And... I don't know, I thought he has given me so much and done so much for me, a little gift in return would be in order, no?"

"So did it mean anything or didn't it?"

Zevran hmm'd vaguely. "Not... really, as such, no... I mean, it was just a little gift. 'keep it or sell it,' I said, 'or wear it or whatever, it doesn't matter.'"

Wynne sighed and rubbed her aching temples. "So what is the problem? Honestly, Zevran; why are you bothering me with this?"

"Because you are so wise, my dear sweet lady. You see, he is not wearing it in his ear."

The mages eyes popped open wide, and she stared at him.

Zevran tsked. "Really, Wynne, you are such a dirty old lady."

"I'm not!" Flustered, she clamped her mouth shut and looked around, afraid to have disturbed her slumbering companions. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "So tell me where he is wearing it, you great annoying... person!"

"It's in his left nipple." He nodded at Wynne's reaction. "I understand if he would have sold it, I would know what that meant, clearly. Or if he wore it in his ear, say. I could understand that. Or even if he just kept it like he has been, in his pocket. And taking it out once in a while to look at it, and to stroke it. And putting it back in his pocket. And then taking it out again to stroke it. And putting-"

"Zevran," Wynne ground out through clenched teeth.

"Oh, sorry, I distracted myself. What was I saying?" He forced himself to refocus. "But wearing it in his nipple... I cannot fathom such a thing. That must have hurt. But it is close to his heart, that suggests, well... you know." Again he avoided saying the L word. "But it is hidden under his shirt, not worn in the open -" Suddenly, he stopped. His eyes unfocused as realization slowly dawned on him. "It means a hidden love, that brings him pain. Oh." Zevran blinked. Then he looked down on Wynne. "But what does _that_ mean?"

She groaned. Putting a hand over her eyes, she lay back down. "Zevran, I was up very late last night - _very,_" she added pointedly, glaring at him from under her hand - "and I am tired, and I have a headache from over-indulging, so I am going to give you a very simple answer: just do what you've been doing. Everything will work out fine."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I thank you from the bottom of my heart, my dear sweet lady." He rose and bowed to her once more, though she wasn't watching. He slipped out of the room again.

==#==

Alistair groaned and rolled over. Cracking his eyes open, he looked around. The assassin had snuck off early again; Bannon was just waking up. Alistair rubbed his face vigorously. Suddenly he sat bolt upright. "Hey!" he said. "What do you mean 'Entertain them with the story about the Dalish while I go - you know'!?"

Bannon groaned loudly. "Andraste's Tits, Alistair; swift on the uptake as usual." He pulled the sheets up over his head.

"You-" the human continued, aghast; "You went sneaking around? In your father's house?" He lashed out and punched the elf in the arm. "You son of a bitch! They have next to nothing, and you _stole_ from them? How could you!?"

Bannon sat up swiftly. "Dammit, Alistair!" He rubbed his arm and twisted to face the human. "I wasn't _taking_ things from them; I was giving them!"

"Huh?"

Exasperated, the elf explained. "They wouldn't take money from me. I wanted to share with them, but they wouldn't hear of it! So...," he gestured with one arm, "I stuffed some coins in the mattress where they would find it after I'd gone. I stashed some silver around."

"Oh." Alistair ducked his head sheepishly. "Sorry."

Bannon shook his head and rubbed his arm as he got up. "Honestly!"

"Well, you know me, swi- _what_ is _THAT!?_"

"It's an earring."

"I... don't think you wear earrings there. Doesn't that hurt?"

Bannon shrugged and started pulling on his clothes. "Yeah."

He didn't say anything else, and Alistair couldn't think of anything, either.

==#==

"Ceremonial plate, ceremonial plate, ceremonial plate..." Alistair paused to huff a cloud of breath onto the pauldron or knee guard or codpiece or whatever that bit was he'd just pulled out of the chest. Then he polished it with his sleeve and laid it out on the bed with the rest of the pile.

He was busy with the fine dwarven armor Leliana had acquired for him in Orzammar, because Queen Anora had left the estate and called the Landsmeet to convene. _Now._

"Ceremonial plate, ...sock? Oh, so that's where that ended up!"

"Bannon," Leliana said, "where is your grey drakescale?"

"It's at the armorer's. Being repaired."

This seemed to alarm the bard. "Well you'll have to go see if it's ready!"

"Can't I just wear-"

"No!" She gave him that stern nun look. He had developed no defense against that. "Hurry. You don't want to be late to the Landsmeet. On second thought..." She tipped her head and tapped her chin. "If you can't get there on time, perhaps a dramatic entrance would suit. Yes, I am liking this idea. Alistair, go with him to fetch his armor, then both of you get to the palace."

"I'll go with them," Zevran said.

"You will not. The Wardens must enter alone. Two, the last of Ferelden's hope," she said. "It will emphasize Loghain's short-sighted plans, and how dangerous they are to the people."

So Bannon and Alistair went to the armorer's, and Bannon had to suffer Wade dressing him up and making last minute adjustments.

"We're going to be late," Bannon complained.

"Of _course_ you are," the armorer said. "That's the whole point, isn't it? Fashionably late!"

"Fashion...uh?" The elf looked helplessly over to Alistair, but the other Warden was just snickering up his dwarven plate sleeve.

Well, at least he was distracted from falling into a gibbering, quivering heap of nerves.

After dress-up, they marched to the castle.

==#==

"Halt!"

Twelve men of Gwaren stood before the doors to the Great Hall, visors lowered, shields up. Ser Cauthrien strode in front of them. "The Grey Wardens are traitors to the King. You will not be permitted to enter the Landsmeet." She glared specifically at Bannon. "You belong in the dungeons."

"Loghain is the betrayer," Alistair said, stepping forward toe to toe with the female knight.

"He is a hero-!"

"The heroes are all the men and women who _died_ at Ostagar, giving their lives to defend Ferelden against the Blight. Not the ones who ran away and left them!"

There was the briefest hesitation before Cauthrien retorted, "If the Grey Wardens hadn't delayed the signal..."

"Do you believe that?" Bannon asked, studying her face through the bars in her helm. "Or is that what Loghain keeps telling you?" He sensed another hesitation and pounced. "And how did the Tower of Ishal become overrun? There was a patrol of loyal Gwaren troops guarding it, as I recall. Wasn't there?"

A crese of a brow, a glance aside. Ser Cauthrien knew something. A lot of things, probably, as she was Loghain's highest lieutenant.

"Did you know that King Cailen was going to put Anora aside and court a marriage with the Empress of Orlais?"

"What?" she yelped, genuinely surprised.

Alistair said, "We found the letters Loghain intercepted, and kept hidden at Ostagar."

Bannon added, "It is widely known that Loghain hates Orlesians more than anything else."

"But he wouldn't..." Ser Cauthrien's eyes darted, flicking through her memories, her knowledge. "He wouldn't plunge Ferelden into a civil war, leave us vulnerable to the Blight over it."

"He did send troops to the border to meet the Grey Warden reinforcements." Bannon tilted his head. "You knew about that, didn't you?"

Alistair added, "They killed the Grey Wardens who were sent to help us against the darkspawn. He killed the Grey Wardens who were fighting at Ostagar." His voice rose. "He's tried to kill _us_ at every turn. Do you really think he has the survival of Ferelden in mind?"

Bannon put a hand on the Templar's arm to ease him back. To Ser Cauthrien, he said, "Loghain was the Hero of River Dane, who saved us from the Orlesian occupation. But do you honestly think what he's doing now is going to save us from the Blight?"

She looked away. Then she snapped at her troops, "Stand down!"

"Ser?"

"Stand down and step aside." She turned to face them. "We have a battle with the darkspawn to prepare for."

"Yes, ser!" The troops marched out.

Bannon looked at Alistair, gave him a nod of encouragement. The Templar gave him a nod of 'I hope we don't screw this up' in return.

Then Bannon hit the double doors, swinging them both open in a dramatic sweep. He strode inside boldly, his fellow Grey Warden at his side, head up, spine straight. _Wanting_ people to notice him, which was a new experience.

The Great Hall was long and wide, with tall wooden pillars supporting the timber roof. Bannon nearly choked when he noticed a crow sitting up there, watching the goings-on. People crowded the archways along either side of the central carpet. At the end of the Hall, it opened into a circular chamber, with the lesser banns and assorted house guards and guests on the lower floor, and important members of the clergy, the royals, and the nobles, on balconies overlooking the whole area.

Anora had commandeered the highest balcony at the apex of the Hall, accompanied by Eamon and Teagan. Loghain had been relegated to defending his position as 'regent' from the stone floor.

The Wardens had caught Loghain and Arl Eamon in mid-debate. The general turned and scolwed like a thunderhead at the latecomers.

"The Grey Wardens are here now, Loghain," Eamon said. "Despite your best efforts."

"And what of my Lieutenant?" the General growled at them.

Alistair growled back, "So you admit to trying to stop us?"

"I am trying to maintain control and reason, to protect my country."

"Well," Bannon said, "Ser Cauthrien decided it was better to _not_ eliminate the last two people who are the only ones who can stop the Blight!"

"She's off preparing the troops for the real battle," Alistair added. "Since you admitted to it once, do you want to go ahead and tell everyone how you tried to have us hunted down and killed? Assassinated by the Antivan Crows?"

"I did not. Howe hired the Crows."

From below the head balcony, Zevran stepped forward. "Well, that is not entirely true, is it?"

Loghain looked ready to chew rocks.

One of the banns called out, "And who are you?"

"I am Zevran ArainaI of the Antivan Crows," the assassin boasted. "And it was Rendon Howe I met when I came to do the job, yes. And it was Rendon Howe who paid me. However-" he turned and fixed Loghain with an amber glare- "It was this taciturn gentleman that Howe turned to for approval - and received it!"

A ripple of shock passed through the hall.

"Do you also admit that you sent your troops to intercept - and kill - the Grey Warden reinforcements that were being sent to aid us?"

Bannon liked this new, dangerous Alistair. And... admittedly, felt a bit afraid.

"The Orlesian dogs would have used any means to regain a foothold in our country."

Arl Eamon said, "Your paranoia about Orlais is well known."

"You fought them, Eamon. Have you forgotten already? Swayed by that Orlesian... hussy you took to wife?"

Eamon blanched, and someone, perhaps the Holy Mother, gasped. The arl said, very tightly, "The Landsmeet will overlook your personal attack."

"Do you also admit," Alistair went on, like a mabarI with a bone, "to plotting the demise of the Ferelden Grey Warden order at Ostagar, and the death of King Cailen?"

More muttering flowed throughout the Hall, much in outrage against the preposterous suggestion. Loghain took advantage.

"It was the Grey Wardens who were responsible for the death of the King!"

"What reason would the Wardens have to go and get themselves all killed, just to kill Cailen?"

"What reason would I have, to kill my liege lord?" Loghain demanded. "My best friend's son?"

"Because he was considering putting aside your daughter, and cementing an alliance with Empress Celine." Alistiar looked up. "I'm sorry, your Highness."

She turned to Loghain. "Father, is this true?"

He glared at Alistair. "I don't know where..."

"We found the letters at Ostagar."

The mutterings took an edgy tone, and Bannon wondered if this bit of information might actually be working against them. Anora, for one, would feel differently about Cailen's death if he had been going to give her the heave-ho. The rest might not like the thought of a royal alliance with Orlais any more than Loghain did. He surreptitiously nudged Alistair's foot. "Do the slave thing," he muttered out of the side of his mouth.

"We have the letters right here." Alistair patted his satchel. "Oh, along with the papers giving _Tevinter_ the right to take slaves from Ferelden!"

"Rendon Howe worked on his own to exploit Denerim," Loghain claimed. "He has been dealt with."

Bannon said, "And you have no idea what those Tevinter slave ships were doing in your harbor? Or what was going on in the Alienage? Purges, quarantines, fake plagues? Or maybe you didn't care, because they were 'only elves'?"

"The running of the city, including the Alienage within it, is under the office of the Arl of Denerim."

"You appointed Howe as that arl. Now you're trying to convince us, after conspiring with him to hire assassins, that you and he weren't working together? That he didn't have your approval for everything?"

"He certainly did not have my approval to kidnap my daughter!"

"Really, Father?" Anora leaned over the balcony rail. "Because I believe your exact words to me were, 'Go with him.'"

Oh, that did not go well for Loghain! Which was good, because Bannon could tell they were losing the crowd. None of the nobles really cared that elves were being taken away into slavery. A lot were still unsure about the whole Orlesian angle.

Loghain lost his composure slightly. "He was threatening you."

"Clearly." The general was not winning points with his daughter.

Bannon thought it high time to call the vote. "Well, the vote is clear. Whether you care about elves, or Orlais or Tevinter taking over Ferelden or not, the Blight is here and spreading across our land. The Archdemon is coming to lay waste to everyone and everything. The Grey Wardens stand against the Blight. Loghain stands against foreigners, whether they can aid us or not."

That would have been a fantastic closing speech, but the damnable thing was, Loghain also got to speak. "The Grey Wardens combat the darkspawn, the Blight. That is their place - ruling a country is not." He glared at Alistair. "To rule a country, one needs to consider all her needs, in war _and_ peace."

"I am the rightful ruler," Alistair said, his voice dead cold. "You are a traitor to your king!"

"You don't belong on the throne," Loghain spit.

"You don't, either!"

"Enough!" Anora shouted. "The Landsmeet will vote now." She turned to the Revered Mother, who stepped forward to call for the votes of each and every bann and arl. There were some the Wardens had helped, some Arl Eamon had courted to support Alistair's bid for the throne, some of the southerners who were feeling the bite of the darkspawn. Some that found the concept of slavery in this country deplorable. Still, there were many whose greater fear was Orlais.

At last, the Holy Mother announced, "The Landsmeet vote is 28 in favor of the Grey Wardens. 23 for Loghain MacTir."

Alistair blew out a breath of relief, but Bannon had an uneasy feeling about this.

Eamon said, "The Landsmeet is against you, Loghain. Step down."

The general glowered, flexing his shoulders which made his armor clink. "I will fight for this country unto my last breath." He raised his head. "I will never yield."

"Father, our armies need you," Anora pleaded.

Alistair muttered, "Didn't we win?"

"Apparently, not enough," Bannon muttered back.

The Revered Mother stated, "There is no clear majority. Do you wish to invoke trial by combat?"

"I do." Loghain strode to the center of the floor. "Will you face me in one-on-one combat, Alistair Theirin?"

Bannon heard Alistair gulp.

"Or do you have a champion to fight for you?" he asked with clear scorn. Alistair was tongue-tied, which was probably a good thing, keeping him from saying something rash.

Bannon said, "We have a champion. Zevran?" He glanced at the assassin, to see if he was ready. The blond gave him the nod. "Kill him."

"With pleasure, _mI patrone_."

The Revered Mother announced, "The combatants have ten minutes to prepare."

Tension in the Great Hall broke, as people milled around, looking for a good vantage point. It also gave them time to roll up the rugs and banners that might get bloodstained.

Bannon and Zevran moved over to the side wall, away from too many prying eyes. "Are you all right with this?" Bannon asked him.

"Of course."

"I mean, it's a duel. You can't exactly sneak around behind him."

Zevran only chuckled. "The Antivan Crows excel at fighting, one on one or multiple targets. Who do you think taught Isabella all her moves, hm?" The assassin winked. "Besides, the Crows have developed the most potent of poisons. Our secret advantage."

He removed a vial of black liquid from his belt pouch, and began dribbling it on his sword blades.

Bannon felt Loghain's approach behind them, like a stormcloud moving in, just moments before the general growled, "Poison is strictly forbidden in this duel."

Zevran whirled around. "This? Is not poison! It is Antivan brandy." He raised the flask and took a big swig. Loghain's eyebrows went up. "Is tradition to anoint the blades in brandy before a serious duel. As well as imbibing." With a big grin, he took another drink. "Ah! Liquid courage."

The general scowled and stalked off. Alistair edged up to Bannon, his face creased in worry. "Uh..., did Zevran just drink poison?"

"Of course not."

"Oh. Good. Did... he anoint his sword with brandy?"

Bannon just snickered and put the vial of inky fluid into his own belt pouch.

"Right. You two are up to something. And I don't want to know anything about it."

"Now you're catching on."

==#==

Zevran could tell how serious this duel would be when they not only cleared out any rugs, but the furniture, tapestries, and banners, too. Make all the jokes you want about Fereldens and their country, they still were a nation of warriors.

He donned his Dalish helmet and cinched the straps. He waggled and shook his head to test its snugness and loosen his muscles. He swung his arms and bounced on his toes. His armor and weapons were secure and balanced. Lastly, he held still, head bowed, eyes closed.

He focused on the noises behind him, until he could paint a picture of the people in the space: servants scuttling, the murmur of the crowd, one old bann coughing. With more focus, he could pick out the heavy tread of the warrior he was facing.

Loghain paced slowly, warily, biding his time like an old campaigner. Just another fight in his long history of duels, skirmishes, battles, campaigns, and wars. He was no naked princeling, that's for sure.

Zevran opened his eyes and turned. _Kill him_, his beloved _patrone_ had ordered, like it was nothing. And so he would.

The Revered Mother spoke about the duel, the rules, blah blah. Zevran didn't care. It was not a duel, but an assassination. He couldn't make it obvious that poison was in play, so it had to be drawn out, but the conclusion would be the same.

Loghain drew a bastard sword of simple and durable make. Zevran drew his twin blades, and the warriors began circling each other, as the entire Great Hall fell silent.

The general's armor was full plate, well cleaned, but more serviceable than showy. His helm was sturdy, adorned with modest wing fins. Zevran narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge the dark visage within.

He switched direction of his circle, offering his off-hand side. Loghain followed in the dance as they sized each other up. Zevran checked again for chinks in the general's armor.

Loghain must have judged the elf's studded leather as completely inferior, for he waded straight in with a broad cut, not bothering to feint or angle to his advantage. Clearly, he meant to simply overpower his smaller and weaker opponent.

The assassin hid a smile. Instead of wasting his strength parrying, he dodged the blade altogether, darted under Loghain's guard, and struck at his chest plate and leg joint. The first was just a diversion, a loud clang over the enemy's heart. The cut to the leg delivered the dose of poison.

Loghain turned, stepping back, perhaps to reassess his wiley opponent. Zevran pressed the attacks, let him parry - one, two, three... four, five. Then break sequence: overhead slash, plus a quick stab to the exposed armpit.

The general backpedaled quicker, to prevent the blade from going all the way into a lung. Zevran made to follow, but jumped aside as the warrior went on a ferocious attack. He couldn't dodge all of the blows, he had to parry with both blades, the force of steel against steel jarring his arms.

A shallow slice turned into a stab, and cut through Zevran's guard, punched through his chest armor. He fell back with the thrust, but still felt the bite of the blade. Loghain was backing him into a corner. Zevran had one shot - to duck under the bastard sword and leap forward into a roll.

He came up and turned, already on the attack again, not giving Loghain time to breathe. Let the heavy battle beast tire itself out shambling around. Zevran attacked the chest plate at the sides and the shoulders. If he could break a strap, he would have a bigger target. Loghain's strategy was much simpler - try to cleave his opponent's head off.

The Great Hall was no longer silent. Nobles, warriors, clergy, and the rag-tag troupe of the Grey Wardens watched the battle in trepidation, gasping at the telling strikes, the near misses.

Loghain was tiring, Zevran could hear his labored breath. The assassin pressed mercilessly, going for a decisive kill. The general's armor was well-dented, and he bled from both arms and legs, but probably not as much as Zevran did. Heedless of his own safety, knowing time was running out, he tangled his off-hand blade with the bastard sword and made a vicious cut at Loghain's neck. The blade went precisely into the seam between the helm and gorget.

Loghain threw himself to the side as soon as he felt the bite, fell to his knees as Zevran raised his sword for the final blow.

"I yield!"

_What?_ Yielding? Was that part of the rules? Zevran hesitated for one breath, and that was his undoing.

People crowded onto the floor; Chantry and soldiers, and the opportunity was lost. Zevran looked to Bannon, who gave a slight shake of his head. The assassin lowered his weapons.

Loghain pulled his helm free, exposing his bloodied neck and cheek. "I yield," he reiterated, "to the noble ruling of the Grey Wardens. I will fight beside them." His breath was still ragged, probably attributed to the exertion by those not versed in poisons. But Zevran could see the pallor of Loghain's skin, the cold sweat, the signs of beginning tremors.

The general's eyes met his. Yes, he knew he was dying, and the bastard was going to make sure everyone at the Landsmeet knew he'd been poisoned, that the Wardens were not trustworthy leaders.

Zevran's blood ran cold. He'd failed. Failed his mission, failed his _patrone_, failed his lover, and failed this miserable little country.

Then Alistair stepped up beside him. "Loghain MacTir. For treason against your King, your country, and the entire world under the Light, the sentence is death." He drew his sword, raised it on high, and before anyone could blink, Alistair brought it down and sheared Loghain's head from his body. An arc of blood splattered everyone in range, including Zevran, the Revered Mother, and Anora.

The Great Hall was silent again, in shock. The clang of the warrior's armored body hitting the stone echoed throughout the chamber.

==#==

Bannon wiped his face with a rag cloth. Zevran's wounds were being healed by Wynne. The mage's lips were pressed into a tight line. It was unclear if she were annoyed by Alistair's rash and swift field justice, or the fact that they'd cheated to win the duel - or both. But she couldn't say anything, because she knew how important it was for the Grey Wardens to prevail, by any means necessary. Bannon would undoubtedly hear about it later.

He looked over at Alistair. The other Warden was sitting on a bench by the wall, leaning his elbows on his legs, and staring at the floor in front of his feet. He didn't seem to notice he still had blood on him. In fact, he looked pale, almost as much in shock as Anora.

The Queen had to be tugged away from the scene by her handmaid and the Revered Mother. Her face was pale, her eyes glassy. Erlina fussed with cleaning her face and dabbing the front of her gown, but that was a lost cause.

Now that the floor had been cleared, and hastily mopped, the Revered Mother stepped to the balcony rail. "The Landsmeet will hear the ruling of the Grey Wardens."

Bannon figured that was him. "I am Bannon Tabris, Commander of the Grey." He stepped forward and glanced around. Eamon was giving him the prodding eyebrow to name Alistair king. Anora was white as a ghost, with two red spots starting on her cheeks that presaged an erupting fury.

And Alistair. Bannon didn't have to glance back at him. The man was a presence in his mind. His brother. Should he be king? He'd shown a lot of spine in these past few days. Standing up to his ingrate sister in defense of Bannon and elves. Fighting slavers against long odds. Boldly slapping a blood-stained document on the table in front of a bunch of nobles. GIving a speech in the marketplace. Standing up to Ser Cauthrien, and to Loghain, listing all his crimes and foul deeds.

The silence stretched thin as thoughts raced through Bannon's mind. Then he realized two things at once. Alistair would make a fine king. And, he'd hate every minute of it.

Bannon announced, "The Grey Wardens will lead the armies of the lands against the darkspawn. Anora will remain as rightful Queen of Ferelden."

He held his breath as that sank in around the Hall. Anora's face evened out to a more normal tone. Eamon's lips pinched worse than Wynne's. Well, you win some, you lose some.

The Hall burst into applause. It wasn't raucous cheering, but it was good enough.

Anora stepped forward, raising a regal hand to command silence. "And Alistair's claim to the throne?"

"Alistair makes no claim to the throne," Bannon said. "But shall remain in succession, should the unthinkable happen, Your Majesty."

The Queen clenched her teeth, but nodded. "Then our armies shall prepare. What is the Grey Wardens' command?"

"We muster at Redcliffe!'

==_X_==


	21. Rinna

**Rinna**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: mentioned  
Nudity: no  
Sex: discussed  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

i'm sure you know this one... (no, i STILL don't know how the dip i'm spelling tally-sin's name!)

* * *

**Rinna**

==#==

The estate was in a flurry of activity, like their arrival, but in reverse, as servants rushed around packing things to leave. Zevran used the opportunity to hone his thieving skills in the wine cellar.

Then he needed a quiet place to think, yet every hall and room was packed with people - servants, soldiers, Grey Wardens. Aha, another thief (and assassin) skill that would come in handy: roof running. There was a shed adjacent to the kitchen wall, and the kitchen roof was below the second storey rooms. He found a comfortable confluence of roofs that abutted a wall together, and leaned back in the corner.

He took a deep breath of the warm evening air, and raised the bottle in a toast. A toast to freedom, to winning! _You idiot_. He bit down on the cork and yanked it free, spit it out and drank deeply.

The Crows had sent Taleisin, their best hope of tracking Zevran. With him dead, and no survivors to report back, Farkus _might_ have decided to believe Zevran had perished as well, both done in by the other, and good riddance. It was a faint hope, but with no leads, what could the Crow Master do?

But. Zevran grimaced. This wine was a heavy-bodied vintage not to his taste. He'd gone to the Landsmeet, and stood up in front of everyone, telling them his name, his profession. Zevran Arainai, Antivan Crow! And then the very public duel with Logahin. Sure, Ferelden was a little backwater country, but stories of the spectacle of the Landsmeet would surely trickle out and spread.

Or, maybe the whole country would be wiped out by the Blight before that could happen. That would include Zevran, him being so close to the Grey Wardens, the epicenter of the battle with the horde.

Zevran rubbed his face. Farkus would most likely wait to see if the Blight finished the job. No sense wasting time and effort. Yes, Zevran only had to lay low after this infernal battle. Pretend to have died in it. Change his name, dye his hair, make up a story about the valiant but doomed Crow who perished fighting the darkspawn.

Would that be freedom? At last? He thought he'd been free before. When he failed to kill the Wardens. But no. He'd sworn his life, his service to them. That was just exchanging one master for another. Not that he'd minded, much. Besides, it had brought him to Bannon, a long-fought and hard-won conquest.

And more.

Zevran's belly ached, as if he'd eaten too much candy. He could see the dark-haired elf in his mind, his sleek, muscled body. And that ring, glinting so tantalizingly. He put a hand over his face, trying to deny the strong feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Zevran?" Like a wraith summoned by thinking about it too hard, Bannon's voice drifted quietly over the roofs.

"Here, _amore._"

Bannon picked his way to the assassin's perch. "Is everything all right?"

"_Si_. Come sit. We should talk."

The thief nimbly clambered down to sit beside him. "What is it you want to talk about?"

"I want to thank you again, for freeing me from the Crows."

"Well... I had a little help." The Denerim elf eyed him.

"That's... not what I meant." Zevran rubbed his face again.

Then he felt his lover's hand on his shoulder. "Were you close?"

Trust Bannon to understand the unspoken heart of the matter. Zevran bit his lip. "Yes," he admitted quickly. He did not elaborate, and Bannon didn't ask. Zevran could feel the hesitation in his hand, however.

"I'm sorry," the thief said.

"There were three of us, in our cell. 'Friendships' were discouraged, of course, real ones. It was easier for the Masters to control us if they could turn us on one another."

Bannon folded his hands in his lap, listening intently.

"There was a woman, an elven woman. Her name was-" His voice suddenly went hoarse. He made an effort to speak the name that hadn't passed his lips since that night. "Rinna. Her name was Rinna."

Like one of those wraiths, summoned by her name, she appeared before his mind's eye. Laughing, loving... lethal. These glimpses were fleeting, always overpowered by how he had last seen her.

"Rinna, Taleisin, and I did many missions together. We worked well together. We became lovers." He paused at the Denerim elf's small vocalization of confusion. "Pairing as we wished, sometimes all three of us." He shrugged. "You follow your desires. They mean... nothing.

"Except..." Zevran closed his eyes. "You know how it is. Two elves, fighting together, rutting together, bonded by bloodlust. I..." He grimaced. "We did the forbidden. We... we fell... we were in love," he blurted, like pulling a knife from a wound.

Bannon held his silence, allowing Zevran space to breathe.

"We were young and stupid," Zevran scoffed. He drank from the bottle. "We didn't want to deny it, though we hid it. Or tried to."

"What about Taleisin?"

"We still hunted with him. Tumbled him, occasionally." He shrugged one shoulder. "He was our partner. He wouldn't betray us. None of us would betray the others - or so we thought.

"Then, one mission, we failed. Our target was not where we expected. Do you know what it means to fail, in the Crows?" He shot a look at Bannon. The other elf nodded. "I talk about it enough, eh?" he said flippantly. "Punishment our only payment. Disgrace in the eyes of our cell. No respect. Heh."

He waved the bottle. "Then, a few days later, Taleisin came to me. The team who had finished our job had also brought back several of the mark's important papers. Among them, a note from a traitor, warning him of the time and place of our planned ambush. And another, instructions for a courier to take payment to a particular elven woman of the Crows."

Zevran raised the bottle to his lips, but pulled it back as the words tumbled out. "I was so enraged! The woman I loved - that I had _dared_ to love - betrayed me! Betrayed us! We could have been killed!

"Master Farkus tasked me and Taleisin to eliminate her. We found her outside our favorite tavern, cornered her. Of course, she denied everything! The perfect liar! Taleisin seized her, forced her to her knees. She _pleaded_ with me, her eyes, so-" He put a hand over his own eyes, trying not to see. "I... we killed her, there, in the alley. Dead, bloodied, food for the crows. We spit on her corpse!" The images flooded back, overwhelmed him, choked him.

==#==

Bannon's mouth hung slack. Zevran had been in love... and forced to kill his lover. How could anyone come back from that? "Zevran..." He gripped the assassin's shoulder again. "I'm so sorry."

Zevran shuddered at the contact. He struggled with himself, but couldn't seem to stop the tears. He turned towards Bannon, to hide his face. The thief tugged him closer, to hold him.

Angrily, Zevran shoved him away. "Do not comfort me," he hissed. "I _hate_ that!" He swiped at the wetness on his cheeks.

Bannon didn't know what to say, what to do. He wanted to do whatever it was that Zevran needed right now, but he was lost. He tried to express his compassion with his eyes.

"And do not _pity_ me!" the assassin snarled. "I will gut you!"

Bannon turned away. "I don't know what to say, Zev. I can only imagine the pain you feel."

"I never expected to have love - _ever_." The Antivan's voice hitched. "When I lost it... I figured that had to be it. Life was... well, it was meaningless and empty, but right."

"That is not right," Bannon insisted.

"But it is what I expected. Then I expected to die, but, heh." He waved the bottle in a drunken salute. "You are full of surprises, _amore_."

"You keep calling me that, instead of 'patrone.'"

Zevran frowned sourly. "Is just a word. Like 'friend.'"

"But it doesn't mean 'friend,'" Bannon probed.

"It doesn't matter." Zevran tucked one knee up and wrapped his arms around, his chin resting atop. He stared at the bottle, but didn't move to drink any more wine.

Bannon looked at his hands in his lap. Hands that were restless to reach out, to hold, to comfort. To catch the elusive elf before he slipped away. "I want to spend time with you," he said. "I want to spend my life with you. I don't care if the Crows hunt us to the end of Thedas. It's worth it."

Zevran frowned. "You say that."

"I _mean_ it."

"But this is your first time - a relationship notorious for not lasting long. And what of your obligations to the Grey Wardens?"

"After the Blight, I'll be free of them."

"I will never be free of the Crows."

"They sent their best. And their second best. From here, it can only get easier."

This prompted a dry laugh from the assassin. "I don't know where you get your ego."

"I think it 'Antivan rubbed' off on me." Bannon reached out and gripped the bottle, forcing Zevran to meet his eyes. "You can't live your life in fear. If you reject love out of fear, then... what are you left with?"

==#==

Zevran looked away. "I've killed the only woman I ever loved, and the only man I ever trusted. Love... is not for me. Not for whores and assassins."

Silence lay thick between the two elves. Zevran began to regret pushing Bannon away, now wishing the thief would say something. Anything to keep from facing his own fears, his own emotions. They threatened to overwhelm him, make him weak, destroy him.

No, he wouldn't let that happen. He would let it destroy only his traitorous heart. Once that was choked and cold in death, then he would feel no more. He felt it struggle, but would not help.

Then he felt Bannon's hand grip his own. He tried to pull away again, but the thief clasped firm.

"Zevran, you said it yourself. You are _free_."

"But-"

"You are not a whore, you are not an assassin."

"I don't know what I am, if I am not these things."

"You are Zevran. You are sexy, you are deadly, you are free to choose what you do - who you kill, who you bed... who you love." Bannon lifted their joined hands to his chest. "And I hope... you choose me."

"I'm... afraid."

"I can't give up on you."

For a moment, Zevran wanted to. To go and lose himself in the sex, to just do it. Make Bannon happy, give him what he wanted. Slip away in the cold dark of the night, like it didn't matter.

He looked up into those deep, dark, chocolate eyes. But he couldn't. He wasn't a whore. He looked away. "I can't. Not... not tonight." He tugged his hand free, for a moment, afraid that Bannon would refuse to release him, try to keep him trapped, to argue, to cajole, demand. But no. He was clearly reluctant, but the thief let him go.

"Do you need me to say it?" the thief asked.

"No," he answered quickly. "Don't. I... I need time. I need... some space."

Bannon eased back. "I understand. But don't stay out here drinking. It would be hideously embarrassing for you to get drunk and clumsily fall off the roof."

"You're right." Zevran handed him the bottle.

==#==

The thief took it gingerly. He didn't see the cork around anywhere, so he guessed he was going to carry it in a test of his balancing skills. When he stood, Zevran made no move to follow. It was time to leave him alone, as he requested.

Mind in turmoil, Bannon left.

Killing his only love, Bannon still couldn't imagine it. Could he kill Zevran? No. He couldn't conceive of it. But could he become angry enough? Jealous?

Zevran also didn't seem to realize... the story of Rinna's betrayal coming from Taleisin, was entirely suspect, the evidence too pat. It was possible Rinna's betrayal was a complete fabrication of a jealous partner - Taleisin.

He wanted to reassure Zevran that his lover had been true, hadn't turned on him for money. But that would mean he'd killed her for nothing. That _he'd_ been the betrayer. Bannon couldn't bring himself to voice his suspicions of what really had happened. There was no way to know, now.

Both Zevran's former lovers were dead. By Zevran's hand, or near enough. Bannon shook his head. No wonder the assassin feared love. Bannon wasn't afraid. But how to make Zevran take the leap? Would it even be possible? He couldn't imagine how.

He would just have to give Zevran time, give him the space to leave. He didn't want that, but he recognized how important it was for the assassin to not feel trapped, pressured. Forced.

Now was not the time for love. There was a war coming.

==_X_==


	22. The Bargain

**The Bargain**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: slightly  
Nudity: yes (m)  
Sex: some (m/f)  
Other: coercion/dubcon

_Author's Notes:_

Yet another chapter written all those years ago. Finally, we get to the Good Stuff! All the Good Stuffs!

* * *

**The Bargain**

==#==

The armies gathered at Redcliffe, the forces of the east of Ferelden bolstering those of the south, as well as the elves, dwarves, mages and Templars. The darkspawn horde had already attacked, the Wardens, Eamon, and Teagan were informed when they arrived. But they had been driven off.

The arl quickly called for a meeting in the war room. His study was crowded with the three Wardens - Alistair, Bannon, and Riordan; Ser Cauthrien and Teagan heading the Fereldan armies with Murdoch; Kardol and a dwarf named Humboldt from House Harrowmont's warrior caste; Dakorien and Keeper Lanaya; First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir. The picture was quickly painted. The horde had attacked and retreated, like the tide, for a day and a half. Then with a push from the dwarves, they'd been driven off.

Dalish scouts had ventured after them, but no forces of significant size had been reported. It was as if the horde had melted into the ground. Bannon and Alistair shared a look. Or had burrowed. There was talk in the ranks that the Blight had been defeated.

This sparked vehement arguments from the Fereldan Wardens, as well as Kardol. The Dalish and the humans jumped at the opportunity of hope. Meanwhile, Riordan stood alone, staring out the window at the closing darkness of dusk.

"We can't just... give up and go home," Alistair argued.

Ser Cauthrien said, "It is pointless to sit here, with no objective in sight."

"The land cannot sustain these armies indefinitely," Dakorien added.

"There's got to be some sign of them," Bannon said. "We need to send expeditions to Lothering, to Ostagar. Maybe even Haven." He moved aside as a mousey servant came around the room to light the lamps.

"It would be rash," Eamon declared, "to disband so soon, before the horde attacks."

"It _did_ attack!" Murdoch insisted.

"It would still be rash. Tomorrow, we will organize the expeditions, as Commander Tabris suggested."

Riordan turned from the darkened window. "That will not be necessary."

Everyone looked at him in curiosity and trepidation.

"The horde is not attacking here," the Orlesian Warden clarified. "They are striking for Denerim."

"What?" Bannon yelped.

"Didn't we just leave there?" Alistair added in dismayed annoyance.

"How do you know this?" Ser Cauthrien asked with suspicion.

Riodan sighed. "I am a Grey Warden. An old one. I can..." His gaze drifted off across the room... though the wall to the east. "Hear the Archdemon's call."

Bannon thought to maybe punch Riordan, break the Archdemon's spell on him, but in a moment, the man blinked and came back to his senses. "We must march for Denerim at once."

"How long do we have?" Bannon asked.

Riordan shook his head. "We are out of time."

Alistair sputtered. "But it took us days to get here!"

"It will require a forced march, _mes amis_." His voice was heavy. "Prepare your troops. I must speak with the Wardens, alone."

==#==

Bannon and Alistair went with Riordan to his room. They each had one in the west wing. Privilege of rank and all.

"How can this get any worse?" Alistair asked, as soon as the door was secured. Bannon thought to argue with this pessimistic outlook, but... couldn't.

"The battle with the Archdemon is almost upon us," Riordan said. He poured a glass of wine. He offered some to the Fereldans, but impatiently, they declined. "I have to explain this to you. There is nothing, _nothing_ more important. Armies are only good against the horde. No one but a Grey Warden can kill the Archdemon. It _must_ be a Grey Warden who slays the beast."

"Why?" asked Alistair.

Riordan tasted his wine, savoring it a moment. "The Archdemon is no mere mortal creature. It is not even a darkspawn as we know it. It is..." He circled his glass in the air, searching for the words. "Indissoluble."

"We can't kill it?" Bannon demanded. What the hell?

"Let me explain. When the Taint enters a man, he becomes a ghoul, a mindless creature, like a darkspawn. The darkspawn are drawn to the Old Gods - dragons buried deep within the earth. When the Taint takes a dragon, it becomes an Archdemon."

"Yeah?" Bannon said. "Taint plus person equals darkspawn. Taint plus dragon equals Archdemon. So?"

Riodran waved a hand. "An Archdemon is like a darkspawn god."

"So...," Alistair ventured, "we can't kill a god?"

"The flesh can be killed, but the spirit cannot be destroyed. Look," Riordan said to their blank and confused expressions. "Simply put: if a normal person kills the Archdemon, it's body is slain, but its spirit, its essence, remains. It shall leave the husk and enter into a darkspawn. There, it will fester and grow, until the ordinary darkspawn becomes the Archdemon reborn."

Alistair and Bannon chewed this over. Then the elf said, "Shit!"

"The only way to destroy an Archdemon, is for a Grey Warden to slay it. Then, the spirit of the Archdemon is drawn to the Taint within the Warden." Riordan gestured with his hands, careful not to spill his wine. "The spirits of the Archdemon and Warden are bonded, and both are destroyed."

"Wait," said Alistair. "So... in order to kill the Archdemon, we have to die?"

"Nevermind that," Bannon said, "what do you mean the spirits are destroyed?"

Riordan sighed and set his drink down. "The spirit, your soul, cannot die. But it can be annihilated."

Silence met this statement.

Forget dead. Dead was... well, dead, but there was an afterlife. What was there if your soul was destroyed? Annihilated? Gone, forever. Just... nothingness? The elf shuddered.

"This must be done," Riordan continued quietly. "Or the Blight will never end. The Archdemon will respawn, over and over. No matter how many thousands kill it. The world was almost lost before our forefathers discovered this. The Wardens call it 'the Ultimate Sacrifice.'"

"And one of us has to..." Alistair said woodenly.

"I will do it," Riordan told them. "I am... old. Not that far from the Calling."

"The...?" Alistair asked.

"When you have been a Grey Warden for so many years... it becomes harder to resist. The Call of the darkspawn. Before succumbing to the Taint within you, the Warden returns to the Deep Roads, to fight darkspawn until he is eventually slain."

==#==

Bannon and Alistair left Riordan's chamber, hearts and minds heavy with this new burden. They did not speak; what was there to say? Bannon wondered if he would have made it this far if he had known he might have to die in order to win this battle. Alistair went to his room, but Bannon continued on. He sought out Zevran.

The Antivan had been avoiding him since they left Denerim. Bannon fretted at first, then determined he should let the man have his space. But now... his time was running out. The 'Grey Warden auxiliary' as they had come to think of themselves was bedding down in the barracks, the soldiers having been ousted to camp in the field. Bannon motioned for Zevran to come talk to him out in the hall.

"Won't you come to my room with me tonight?" he asked, almost pleading.

"I... don't think that would be a good idea," the Antivan replied. He sounded torn.

"Can't you just be with me? I won't ask anything else of you."

"No," Zevran said more firmly. "Do not ask this of me, Bannon. My heart... is in turmoil. I am afraid. And... I am weak." He sighed. "Please, I need time. You must understand this."

"Zevran, I only have a few days left to live!" he cried in anguish. "And I- " He broke off, and put his face in his hands. "It's not fair to you, is it? I'm so sorry." He turned away. The assassin was right; how could anyone be asked to feel a love that was doomed? He was going to march towards death, and he was going to do it alone.

==#==

Bannon entered his room and closed the door. He looked up and frowned in annoyance. "Don't you have your own room?"

Morrigan turned from the fire. "You may not believe this, but I am here to do you a favor." Bannon snorted, which she took for permission to continue. "What if I were to tell you there is a way to slay the Archdemon, and no Grey Wardens have to die?"

"What?"

"You see, I know all about how an Archdemon is destroyed, and the sacrifice the Grey Wardens make." She moved towards him, slowly. "And I know a way around it."

A spark of hope lit inside Bannon's chest. And yet... 'if it seems too good to be true,' as his father always used to tell him. "Speak your piece," he told Morrigan.

"There is a ritual, an ancient magic - not that you have any fear of, shall we say, 'unsanctioned' magic." She smiled coldly and sat down on his bed. "A ritual performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of the night. You lie with me - here, tonight - so that I may conceive a child." Bannon only stared at her, wide-eyed. "This new spark of life will carry the Taint, and when the Archdemon is slain, its soul will be drawn here, more strongly than to any husk of a darkspawn, or any mere Grey Warden."

"You want to bear a monster?" That was sick, even for Morrigan.

She shook her head. "The spark of life will be so strong, both the Taint within it and the Taint in the Archdemon's spirit will be obliterated. All that shall remain is the soul of an Old God." She stood and fixed him with her golden gaze. "After this is done, I will leave you. And you, in return, will never seek me out again. Will you agree to this?"

Bannon hesitated. "I don't even know if you're telling me the truth."

"No, you don't. But don't be a fool. The harm that can come of it is negligible. Especially weighed against your own life." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't think this Riordan will save you; the chances of any of you surviving to even see the Archdemon are slim. Or would you let Alistair die while you looked on? When you have the power - even the slightest chance to prevent it? And what would your beloved think?" she whispered. "Would you throw away your life for a pack of ungrateful humans who treated you like dirt your entire life, and deny yourself a chance at happiness?" She let the poison of these barbs sink in, then she hooded her eyes and folded her arms. "You _can_ perform with a woman, can't you? Or must we go fetch Alistair?"

"Yes, Morrigan; I am quite capable," he said offhandedly.

Suddenly her eyes snapped open. "So it is true! You conniving little piece of shit!" Bannon threw up his arms to ward off her attack, little good it did him. Morrigan made a broad gesture, and he was seized by an invisible crushing force that lifted him off his feet with its power. "I thought, 'well, maybe he just doesn't like women'! but no, you actually find me more distasteful than that slut of a whoreson!"

"I'm sorry! You're not... at all a slut or a whore," Bannon gasped out quickly. "Just friends... You took it... the wrong way!"

"Don't waste your breath lying to me, you snake!" She gestured, and the prison started closing tighter on him. "You with your charming smiles, your beguiling conversations. You and your whore were probably laughing at me the whole time!"

"Didn't...," he choked out. "Please..."

"And what about Flemeth? Did you actually kill her, or were you lying about that as well?"

Bannon gasped for breath, but he couldn't expand his lungs to pull it in. "...book," he managed.

Morrigan considered this a moment. "Yes..." Then she flicked her hand, and Bannon was released to collapse to the floor, gasping and shaking. "Mother never would have given up her grimoire without a fight." She tapped her fingertips against her chin thoughtfully. Bannon pushed himself to his hands and knees, breathing heavily. Morrigan looked down on him. "Well?" she said. "Will you enter into this bargain with me?"

He looked up at her, incredulous as well as fearful. She only waited for his response. He swallowed, then nodded.

"I need to hear it out loud," she said.

"I will."

"Then it shall be done. Get up." She turned her back on him. "Take off your clothes." She extended her arms and tilted her head back. With half closed eyes, she began a murmuring chant, and the air in the room took on a dark atmosphere charged like an electrical storm.

Pushing all thoughts out of his mind, Bannon pulled off his clothes. When Morrigan finished preparing the magic, he stepped up behind her and lightly touched her shoulders. He caressed her bare arms and leaned forward to kiss her neck.

She turned on him. "Stop it," she hissed. Confused, he backed away. One corner of her lip curled in a sneer of disgust. "Just rut with me and get it over with."

"Morrigan..." His voice was hoarse still from his ordeal. "I never meant to hurt you. You've never had many friends... when I wanted to be yours, you thought... it meant something else. I'm sorry."

"Don't you patronize me! And do not blame me - my only 'mistake' was ever trusting you at all!" Eyes blazing in fury, she grabbed him by the ear and pulled him towards the bed.

"Not the ear!" he squeaked.

"What?" she scoffed, frowning. "That nonsense Zevran was spouting to get Wynne to let go of him? That's not true, is it?" She quit pinching him and instead tried experimentally stroking the long point of the ear. His eyes closed, and he shivered. Morrigan snickered. "Just like rubbing a dog's belly to get his leg to twitch. Oh, this is going to be _easy_."

She pushed him back onto the bed, shed her robes, then moved atop him.

And so the ritual began.

==_X_==


	23. Spurned

**Spurned**

CONTENT:

Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Drama  
Language: very bad  
Violence: none  
Nudity: none  
Sex: implied  
Other: none

_Author's Note:_

This was written a couple years after the rest, in the Bioware Forums Zevran fan thread. So yes, I decided to work it into canon. :) (it's title was 'the night before the archfewmets hit the windmill.' um... but that's a spoiler for the next chapter? :X)

* * *

**Spurned**

==#==

The air inside Castle Redcliffe was full of tension. Zevran drank with the rest of the Wardens' company and several ranking officers of the different armies. The ale seemed wetter, the banter and joking reached a new height. The assassin wasn't really paying attention. Wynne had to prod him twice before he realized she was trying to talk to him. "Eh?"

"I said, are you all right?"

"_Si._"

Her face pinched into a frown as if she didn't believe that. "Do you want to talk?"

Zevran waved that off. He snatched a bottle from the table and pushed his chair back. He waved Wynne off again. It was just too noisy in the dining hall. He slipped out the nearest door.

Just about every niche in the corridor was filled with some soldier embracing his or her lover. Grumbling, Zevran made his way towards the servants' entrance. The night air was refreshingly cool. His feet found a path that wound down the side of the cliff. It was wide enough that even a drunk could stumble along it in relative safety. Not that he was drunk. He was just thinking.

_I only have a few days left to live!_ Why had Bannon said that? It was overly dramatized, for certain. The entire army would clash with the horde in a few days, the Archdemon would be faced and slain. Death? Death didn't even figure into it. _...And it's not fair to you. I'm sorry._

Zevran paused to take a pull from the bottle. What if Bannon _did_ die? No, impossible. Bannon would not die; Zevran would be there to make sure of it. At least, Bannon would not die before Zevran himself did. In which case, there was nothing to worry about, _si?_ The ground began to grow sandy under his feet. He slowed down.

And what about the rest of it? What about afterward? There was no sense worrying about _that_, as unlikely as any of them were to survive to get to afterward. If there were an afterward, then afterward is when he would worry about it. Yes, that made sense.

Zevran sighed and stopped for another drink. If only things were so simple. These... feelings, they had percolated up from the depths of his being. Feeling it in his balls was perfectly normal. Then he had a gut feeling about Bannon; a feeling of trust, of happiness, even. That's when the insidious poison started seeping into his heart. Oh yes, and his heart was perfectly happy with that, but when the whole thing got up to his _brain_... He realized his entire anatomy had betrayed him and gone against all good common sense! Love? Ludicrous! After last time? Hadn't he learned anything? What was driven into him time and time and time again? _That is not for you._ That is not for the assassin. That is not for the whore. That is not for the slave. That never was and never will be for him!

But what if it could work? Damnable hope. What if quashing these feelings were the worst mistake of his life? What if allowing them to exist were even worse? What if... he allowed himself to feel, really _feel_, and then Bannon died and left him bereft? Zevran's throat tightened. He wouldn't survive it.

He let the bottle hang loosely from his lowered hand as he walked out on the thin spit of sand to the edge of the moon-silvered lake. Such cold beauty soothed him. The lapping of the water calmed his turmoiled thoughts. A walk to clear his head would be good. He turned and started walking, not thinking, just focussing on the sand in front of his feet. He didn't get far before he almost tripped over a shadow in the dark.

"Oy!" grumbled a man's voice, over a woman's tinkling giggle.

"Sorry," Zevran murmured, abashed. If that had been a Crow, it would have killed him.

"Give us a break, mate. 'Tis the last night we have to be together."

The elf turned back. A moonlit night, a clear lake; it was indeed a romantic night. Not one to be wasted. He handed the fellow his bottle with another mumbled apology and retraced his steps up the path. What had his mother taught him? Take pleasure when and where you can get it. And if a few days of love are all you have, isn't that better than nothing at all? _Just be with me. I won't ask anything else of you._

==_#_==

Zevran moved like a shadow through the halls. At last he entered the upper hall which was blessedly empty. Eamon and the Wardens wanted to get all the rest they could before the harrowing march. It would be gruelling, leaving the soldiers exhausted at the end of every long day. Zevran hurried his footsteps to Bannon's door, and placed his hand on the latch.

He opened his mouth to call to his lover, to make sure not to startle him into attacking, then he froze. He tipped his head, angling one sharp ear forward. Bannon was in there. Not alone. Clearly. The metal of the latch grew colder under Zevran's hand.

The elf backed away from the door slowly, not realizing he had moved. Oh. Of course. Zevran shut his mouth with a faint click of his teeth. _That fucking liar!_ It was so clear, now! All those lies, all those cons, duping people left and right! Bannon didn't care about him, all he wanted was a bed warmer! And Zevran almost fell for it! How could he be so stupid? Didn't the damned thief _say_ he didn't want anything but sex out of their 'relationship' from the start?

Zevran found himself returning downstairs, mind churning. A whorehouse - that's what he needed. There had to be at least one in this oversized fishing village. No, no, the town was full of soldiers, the whorehouses would be packed. Well, there had to be some loose women around! Hell, maybe he could hire himself out! But definitely to a woman. He'd had enough of pretty boys.

"Zevran, where are you going?" He'd passed Wynne in the hallway. He waved her off again. Foolish old shem woman, filling his head with nonsense about falling in love!

"Out," he snapped at her, not looking back.

He rammed his shoulder into the door to the main hall, knocking it open. Now, where could he find a tough woman soldier? His eyes alighted on a shock of fiery red hair, over where several dwarves were dicing. Ahh. He put on his predatory whore's smile.

==_X_==


	24. Broken Trust

**Broken Trust**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: slightly  
Nudity: a bit (m)  
Sex: discussed  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

This is part of the Bargain, before I put Zevran's scene in between.

* * *

**Broken Trust**

==#==

Bannon dragged himself out of bed the next morning. He hadn't slept well, though he was hard-pressed to tell if his nightmares were from the Archdemon, or simply fears conjured by the witch. He doubted now that Morrigan had any intention of saving him or any other Grey Warden. But he had no other hope to cling to, save that Riordan - and perhaps even Alistair - would die so he wouldn't have to.

He dressed in darkness, then left his room, mind churning. Never mind the demon or the witch - what was he to do about Zevran? The Antivan had been almost infuriating throughout the entire insane relationship - but now that he'd broken through those barriers and found the part of him that could love, Zevran was terrified to commit. And Bannon couldn't blame him - how could he be so cruel as to offer love to Zevran and then die, tearing the man's heart apart once more? If he survived the Archdemon, perhaps then Zevran would be able to love him without fear. The problem was, he had over-committed his own heart, and he didn't know if he _could_ survive this without Zevran to be there for him.

As he came to the corner of the hall, he ran into Zevran coming the other way. Startled, he stopped dead. The Antivan's face was twisted in anger. Bannon felt his heart drop into his stomach. "I see you did not waste any time finding yourself a replacement bed-mate," Zevran snarled.

Shocked, Bannon reeled back a step; he felt gut-punched. His heart lurched back into motion, double-time now in panic. Zevran knew? But how? Worse, he now heard Riordan coming down the hall behind them. If the Orlesian Grey Warden found out about Morrigan's offer, he would never stand for it. He didn't know Morrigan; he'd have her executed as an apostate. "Keep your voice down!" Bannon hissed. He grabbed Zevran by the arm and lunged for the door to Alistair's room. It opened, and he shoved the Antivan inside, ducking in behind him and slamming the door shut.

Alistair yelped in surprise at the sudden intrusion and grabbed a sheet to cover himself. "Uh, guys? Naked human, here!" The elves ignored him, and he knew this had to be bad.

"I will not keep my voice down!" Zevran snapped, ignoring Bannon's attempts to stifle him. "I felt so badly for you, _my love_-" he twisted these words like a knife in a wound - "that I came to your room to... to..." His face reddened in anger, his disgust so palpable he couldn't force out the words. "To discover your door locked, and to hear quite clearly what you and Morrigan were doing!"

"Morrigan?" said Alistair, thoroughly puzzled. He spied his pants and darted to get them.

"It's not what you think," Bannon tried to explain.

"Do not tell me I do not know the sounds of passionate love-making when I hear them!" Zevran shouted.

Alistair dropped his pants. "You slept with Morrigan!?" he asked in disbelief.

"I can explain!" Bannon said desperately to Zevran.

"No! I will not listen to any more of your silver-tongued lies! Morrigan was right, you are a despicable snake! To think, I laughed when you told me how you were just leading her on, making her feel wanted! Never did it occur that you were doing the same to me! How stupid I have been to believe anything you have ever said to me!" He bared his teeth. "You and your witch deserve each other indeed! Good riddance!" He grabbed the doorknob and started to yank the door open.

Bannon slammed his palm against it, shutting it fast. "If you won't listen to me - fine! At least listen to Alistair."

"What does he know about this?" Zevran snarled.

"Me?" Alistair looked baffled. "I don't know anything about - _anything!_"

"Tell him what Riordan told us last night," Bannon said levelly. His eyes remained locked on Zevran.

"What does this have to do with -?" the Antivan began.

"Just _listen_ will you?" Bannon glared at him hard. Zevran backed off, folding his arms. Both elves turned towards Alistair.

Hurriedly, he put his pants on. "Well, all right. Riordan explained why we need Grey Wardens to kill the Archdemon. It has to do with the Joining, and the Taint." He buckled his belt, looking from Bannon to Zevran to make sure they wanted to hear it all. "It's all very complicated, but the short version is; only a Grey Warden can kill the Archdemon, and the Warden who does so... dies."

Zevran flinched. "Why?"

"It's the only way the Archdemon can be destroyed," Bannon answered, looking at the floor. "The Archdemon's essence is bound to the Grey Warden's soul, and both are destroyed."

"But," Alistair said hesitantly, "I'm not sure what this has to do with Morrigan...?" He and Zevran looked to Bannon for an explanation.

The elf took a breath and began. "Morrigan was in my room last night."

"Obviously," Zevran scoffed.

The elf forged on. "She told me she knew about all this already, and that she knew a way to prevent the destruction of the Grey Warden. She said if... there's a ritual she can perform. All I have to do is get her with child." He swallowed bile.

Alistair made a face. "Gah!"

"Unless you want to volunteer!" Bannon snapped at him.

This time, Alistair shuddered. "Euw! Sleep with Morrigan or die a horrible death killing the Archdemon... I'd have to sit down and think about that one - _really_ hard." Twitching in disgust, he turned to find his shirt.

Zevran had remained silent, his face locked, revealing no emotion. "You believed her?"

"I don't know," Bannon admitted frankly. "But I... I don't want to die. I don't want Alistair to die. Hell, I don't want Riordan to die, but if it means the two of us will survive..." Guiltily, he didn't finish that thought.

Alistair said, "Riordan said he would make the final blow."

Bannon looked at him. "There's only _three_ of us. The odds of all of us even surviving the horde... do the math, Alistair."

"You honestly think," Zevran asked, "that this will save your life? All of your lives?"

"I have to try," Bannon told him earnestly; "if there's even the faintest hope. I want to live. I-" he was about to say 'I hope I have something to live for,' but he realized what he was doing, even unconsciously. he couldn't put that kind of pressure on Zevran. Instead he simply said, "I'm sorry."

Zevran said nothing. He turned and left, and this time Bannon let him. Bannon put a hand over his face. He slumped down in the chair by the door. "Maker's Breath," he sighed, "maybe they're right."

"Who?"

"Morrigan, and Zevran. I am a lying, manipulative, self-centered bastard."

"Well, you've been a good friend to me," Alistair told him, pulling on his shirt.

"Before or after you found out I was a thief?" Bannon shot back bitterly.

"Both," said Alistair, thinking about it only a moment. "Why did you come with me to help me with my sister?"

"So you would owe me a favor that I could cash in on when you were king," the elf replied in a deadened voice.

"Hmmm," Alistair said thoughtfully. "That's odd, because I would think a poor, money-grubbing sister would rank higher on my list of people to be passing out favors to." Bannon looked up at him, as if puzzled by this sudden insight. "Plus the fact that you made damn' sure I _wasn't_ made king - just like I had asked you to, for our friendship's sake."

"Uhmm..." Bannon seemed at a loss for words. "It wouldn't have worked out too well, you marrying Anora right after you just beheaded her father right in front of her and all."

"Which you also let me do," Alistair reminded him.

"I know you hated him, Alistair."

"So you let me execute him, even though it would have been better for you if I hadn't. And you got me off the hook being king, even though _that_ blows your plan to use me for royal favors." He moved forward and looked down at Bannon. "Face it, you're a decent guy. And you really are my friend."

"I..." He dropped his head. "Thanks, Alistair."

Alistair looked about to say something, but he hesitated. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, then plunged ahead. "I didn't want to bring this up before... but since everything is going to hell, anyway..." He shrugged. "Why do you even care about Zevran? He's so shallow. I mean, I understand before, when you were under a lot of pressure, and being addicted to the sex. But love? Honestly, Bannon, is he even capable of it?"

The elf shot a look up at him. "He can't help the way he is."

"That's what I mean. He can't help it; he can't change. So what exactly do you expect to gain out of this relationship?" He sounded truly puzzled.

"I don't want anything _from_ him," Bannon said, spreading his hands in explanation. "I want to give something _to_ him." He ran both hands back through his hair, trying to find the words. "Look, when you were a little boy running around playing in the mud, and I was pilfering apples, he was working in a whorehouse. You had your mother; she loved you and cared for you. I had my family. Zevran... Andraste's Tits, his mother _sold_ him." Bannon scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I don't think he's ever had anyone really care for him. I just want him to know what it's like to be able to trust someone for once in his life; to feel protected - secure. And I-" he shook his head miserably. "I've failed. I'm the worst person to look to for security." He cursed loudly. "I can't even count how many ways I'm going to die young!"

"I... I don't know what to say," Alistair said quietly.

Bannon took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet. "It's all right. Thanks for being my friend, whether I deserve it or not."

"You sell yourself _far_ too short," the knight told him.

Bannon shrugged. "Let's get going. I'm not hungry, so we might as well start marching now."

==_X_==

* * *

_End Notes:_

Deleted Bit:

"Even though you could have let Riordan take him and try to make him a Grey Warden. Which, looking back now, might have been a really good idea. Then there'd at least be four of us." - Alistair


	25. Surrender

**Surrender**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: partial (m)  
Sex: some (m/f)  
Other: noncon; and don't be eating during part of this chapter

_Author's Notes:_

More All the Good Stuffs!

* * *

**Surrender**

==#==

Riordan insisted Bannon eat breakfast - the forced march would take a heavy physical toll, emotional strain notwithstanding. They ate and drank on the move at midday, only stopping at nightfall, with scant time to set up camp before full dark. The Grey Wardens were stationed a short distance away from the main body of troops, and their elite forces - Alistair and Bannon's ragtag band - ranged near them.

Bannon ate methodically, sitting in front of his tent, staring at the small fire and trying not to think the terrible thoughts that had taken root in his mind the instant he heard the Blight was striking for his home. Weariness helped. It was a few minutes before he noticed the silent shadow standing beside him. He looked up at Zevran.

"Can we talk? Somewhere private perhaps?" the assassin asked him.

Bannon swallowed. "Um, sure." He looked around. "Not much of that, here."

"Inside is fine." Zevran tipped his head towards the tent.

"If you want. People might think-"

"I don't give a damn about what people think."

Bannon nodded and put down his bowl. The two elves ducked inside the tent and sat down cross-legged on the mat. They sat for a few minutes, not looking at each other. Zevran picked at the edge of the blanket. "I um...," he started slowly, "I heard what you said to Alistair this morning."

Bannon tipped his head, one eyebrow cocked. "Eavesdropping?" he asked, without malice.

The assassin half-smiled. "What can I say? Occupational habit."

"So you heard-?" Bannon's eyes widened.

"Everything, yes."

"I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize."

Bannon shook his head. "But I shouldn't have been telling him those things about you; I don't even know if they're true."

Zevran shrugged. "I will not say you were wrong. My father was not really a Dalish elf. I have no idea who my father was, actually. In fact, I am not quite sure which of the whores was my true mother. They all looked after us, those who weren't busy." He folded his hands in his lap and looked at them. "They were not unkind to us. And it was not that type of brothel that catered to those whose tastes were for the young and helpless - you mustn't think that. There was only that one incident." Bannon nodded to show he understood. "The worst part about that," Zevran added, "was never getting paid."

When he said it that way, without his usual cocky arrogance, the phrase took on a whole new meaning. The money was all that mattered, not a young boy's feelings or well-being. Bannon reached out and took his hand. He did not say anything, he just held it.

"I knew that there were real families out there," Zevran continued quietly. "But I convinced myself that I was better off - without all that stifling coddling, without weakness and dependence, without ties to anyone. Never caring for anyone more than I cared about myself; I was the most important person in the world. I never needed anyone. So went the stories I told myself, and anyone else who cared to listen." He let out a dry, bitter laugh. "And three coins to buy a child, that was a paltry sum. At least with the Crows, I found my true calling. Something I could excel in - and I did. They could not have created a better, more heartless assassin if they had tried."

Bannon squeezed his hand. Zevran shifted to face him. He said, "When you told Alistair what you wanted... if you had told me those words to my face, I would never have believed you. I would have scoffed - I would have laughed in your face, the same way I la-" His words went dry. He swallowed once, then went on. "But since you said them to another, and had no reason to lie, I know them to be true." He closed his eyes and looked away. "I have always believed that such things were not for the likes of me. And I... I don't know what to think."

Bannon put his arm around him and drew him close. "I think you are more than worthy of such a thing." The elves kissed, softly; sweetly. Zevran leaned closer and Bannon encircled him in his strong arms.

They began to kiss more deeply when suddenly the tent flap was torn open. Bannon flinched as if he were about to be attacked. Zevran narrowed his eyes and looked up, reaching for his blades. "Morrigan," he snarled.

"So sorry," the witch said, voice dripping with honeyed acid. She seized Bannon by his collar and half a fistfull of hair, and hauled him to his feet. "But you're not going to fuck him tonight, elf." Her golden eyes blazed down at Zevran. "I am."

"Let go of me, you bitch!" Bannon gripped her wrist and tried to twist from her grasp.

Morrigan simply let go, causing him to stumble towards her to regain his balance. "Did you forget our bargain?"

"I did what you wanted," he grated.

"Once," she said icily. "That's hardly a guarantee it will catch, now is it?"

Bannon only stood glaring at her, shaking with rage. Zevran got to his feet, pulling his dagger fully from its sheath.

The witch made no move to defend herself. "If you want him dead, _elf_, by all means, attempt to skewer me." She sneered at Zevran as he too froze. "Better yet, why don't you just do your damned job and stab him through the heart right now? Though your chances of success are quite slim - it _is_ such a small target."

Zevran sheathed the weapon - carefully, for his hand shook. "Go," he said softly. "Go with her."

"Zev-"

"I do not want you to die." The assassin lowered his head and turned away. "Do what you must."

"Very sensible," said Morrigan, turning. "Come along," she called to her prey.

Seething, Bannon followed her into her tent. He ducked under the flap, then shoved her, hard. She fell to the mat, barely catching herself on her hands. She whirled on him. "What do you think you're doing!" she hissed.

"Rutting with you and getting it over with," he snarled back. "Since that's the way you like it!"

She slapped him across the face hard enough to stun him. She gripped his arm and shoved him down onto his back. He struggled as she yanked his pants down to his knees. With but a gesture from the witch, vines sprang out of the bedroll to snake around his thighs, his wrists, his throat. They pulled tight.

Bannon choked, face reddening, and he had to cease fighting. Morrigan pushed his shirt up, then ran her nails lightly over his exposed flesh. "This will _not_ be pleasant in the slightest," she warned. The vines on his legs sprouted thorns, piercing the tender skin in the crease of his groin. He gave a strangled cry.

==#==

Zevran sat before Bannon's tent, head buried in his hands. His fingers curled into his hair. He swallowed bile. How could he have mistaken sobs of pain for the sound of love-making? He pressed his fingertips against his skull, hard. He should get up, take a walk, get away from here. But no, Bannon needed him to be there for him. He wouldn't abandon his lover. Maker help him, even if it was only for two more days...

After an interminable time, Bannon staggered from Morrigan's tent, clutching his pants to hold them up, his shirt loose. Zevran was at his side instantly, helping him. Bannon was limping. "Get me inside," he hissed. "I'm bleeding."

Zevran half-carried him to his own tent, and eased him down on the mat. "Shall I fetch Wynne?" Zevran asked in fear. Bannon shook his head, and pushed his pants down his legs. blood streaked his thighs. Zevran found him a towel, and scrambled in the pack for some bandages. "How bad is it?"

"I'm fine," Bannon insisted. "Just a few pinpricks. Andraste's Tits, they hurt, though."

"Let me see," the Antivan insisted. He carefully wiped the blood away with the towel and inspected the skin. As Bannon had said, there were only a few scattered points where blood drops welled up. He breathed a sigh of relief.

They wrapped some bandages around Bannon's legs, then curled up together under the blankets. Exhaustion finally claimed them.

==#==

Red rage filled the skies over Denerim; the city was burning. Black wings cut through the smoke as the Tainted dragon form angled over the buildings. The great club tail smashed walls, stove in rooftops. Neither stone nor wood could stand up to the unnatural force.

Screams rose from the wreckage; the pitiful cries of the living creatures. Then an answering chorus of guttural cries as the darkspawn horde poured into the city, flooding through the broken walls like the sea breaching a sinking ship. The screams intensified momentarily, and then there was the sound of feeding.

The great sacred tree arose from the center of the elven alienage, the last bastion of a time long gone, sheltering its children in the modern age. With a roar, the Archdemon spewed its blue-black fire over it, and the tree began to burn. The flames licked so hotly that the air above it screamed. There was a great _CRACK!_ as the mighty heartwood broke.

The Darkspawn horde was driven before the black wings. Ghoulish beasts tore down doors, seized the inhabitants, and dragged them into the streets. The men, they butchered, and the women...

The Archdemon thrust its head down a narrow street. There was one prize it wanted to take away from this city. There... down this lane, to the right, near the end, up those wooden steps, that third step that always creaked. The door burst open and four genlocks carted out a flailing body. They threw Cyrian to the cobblestones and started tearing his flesh, eating his innards even as he still struggled, screaming.

A skull-faced hurlock appeared in the door a moment later, dragging ShiannI by one arm. She screamed in horror as she saw what they were doing to her uncle. The hurlock had no lips, only spikes where its teeth would have been, curved in a malicious permanent grin. It bent and seized a gobbet of flesh from the mouth of one of the genlocks, yanking a gooey hunk free. ShiannI shrank back as the hurlock held it up to her face. It bent and opened its mouth; its purpled scaly tongue coiled out and licked her cheek. When she screamed in revulsion, it shoved the elf flesh into her mouth.

"Shianni!" Bannon screamed, and leaped from the bedroll. Zevran shielded his face and chest with his arms as the other elf flailed to tear himself free from the blanket.

"Wait!" The assassin rolled to his feet and followed as the Warden fled the tent in a panic. Outside, more fellows of the auxiliary were stumbling awake. Alistair screamed and barrelled out of his tent. Wide-eyed, he looked around. He met Banon's eyes and froze. Both Wardens stood there, panting, faces pale. They trembled as if ready to bolt at any moment.

"What's going on?" Wynne demanded, clutching her robe about herself.

Riordan moved quickly out of his tent at the same time. He went straight to Alistair and Bannon and grabbed them by the arm. "Calm down!" he ordered. Suddenly, both started talking, a jumbled pile of breathless phrases-

"It's attacking Denerim!"

"-the alienage. It burned the Tree!"

"-pouring through the walls; everything was burning-"

"They ate my father!"

"They took my sister!"

Riordan yanked them hard as they seemed about to tear out of his grip and run off. "Calm down!" he said again.

"But I saw it!" Bannon insisted. "The Archdemon is attacking my home! They took Shianni!" He tried to pull away, but Riordan held him fast.

Zevran frowned thoughtfully. "You, Riordan," he said, "this thing they see; is that happening now, or only what the Archdemon wishes to happen, perhaps in the future?"

"I didn't see the same thing," the Orlesian said. "The Archdemon is making the horde push for Denerim, but I do not believe they are there yet."

"How does it know about my sister?" Alistair demanded. "I haven't told anyone; no one knows about that!"

Riordan shook his head, and reluctantly released the other two Wardens. "I don't know. Perhaps the Archdemon has read these things in your dreams. Or perhaps they are only your fears incorporating themselves into this vision."

"It can read our minds?" Alistair shouted.

"No one knows," Riordan said maddeningly. "You must put this out of your m-"

"No!" Bannon started pacing around furiously. He tried to pack, picking up things, trying to sort them, but his mind was still scattered in a panic. "We have to get to Denerim - now!" He ducked into his tent and grabbed his boots and armor.

"I told you, there is nothing you can do there by yourselves," Riordan insisted.

"We can go on ahead. The elves can go with us. They don't even need the road to get there, they can cut straight across country!"

"That is not faster!"

Bannon didn't listen. "We can scout around; we can have information for the army when it gets there." He stamped his feet into his boots.

"And what if you do see the Archdemon attacking your home? Are you going to wait for the rest of the army, then?" Riordan grabbed his armor as he started to put it on. "Or are you going to throw your life away trying to save your family?"

Bannon snarled at him. Zevran put a hand on his arm. "Listen to him, _mi amore_."

"There is nothing we can do now," Riordan stated firmly. "The army can reach Denerim perhaps by nightfall tomorrow. But only if we are rested."

"Should we tell them what we saw?" Alistair asked.

"It might lend their feet some haste," Riordan mused. "Or it might drive them to panic and to spend all their energy before the battle."

They looked to Bannon. "What are you looking at me for?" he said.

"You're the general," Alistair reminded him.

"I'm not the general!" Bannon looked at each of them in turn. "Riordan's commanded. Alistair, you've had military training. Even Zevran's been in a war! All I am is a back-alley thief! I don't know anything about generaling!"

Zevran rubbed his chin. "If the army were your mark, and your goal was to get them to Denerim as fast as possible and in good shape to fight... would you tell them, or no?"

Bannon blinked. "Uhm. Hell, yeah; I'd tell them. But I wouldn't say it's attacking the Alienage. I'd say something like, 'it's striking at the heart of Denerim.' And the Darkspawn are taking our women."

Riordan shrugged and said, "Well, that settles it. As for now, difficult as it seems, we should try to get as much rest as possible."

"I can't sleep," Alistair said. "Not after that."

"Lie down and close your eyes anyway," Riordan told him. "That goes for all of us."

They moved slowly, glancing at each other, bundling back into their tents. Zevran put his arm around Bannon's shoulders and gently guided him inside.

"Lie down," the Antivan told him. He stroked Bannon's arms soothingly.

"I can't sleep," Bannon insisted. "You should get some rest, instead of fussing over me." But Zevran didn't listen. He made Bannon sit down, then sat beside him, still embracing him with one arm. With his free hand, he stroked Bannon's hair, his cheek, in slow, calming motions. "I can't get that vision out of my head." Bannon shuddered.

"It was only a nightmare," Zevran told him again. Before the other elf could protest, he added, "That was not real. It did not happen. It won't happen, _mi amore_, we will see to that."

There was a scratching at the tent flap. Bannon tensed, and Zevran pulled out his sword. He used the blade to twitch the flap open. Alistair crouched outside, not even seeming to notice the weapon. His eyes were pinched; his lower lip trembled. For a minute he did not move, then he said in a tiny voice, "Can I sleep with you?"

The two nodded, and he came inside. He hunkered down on the mat with them, hugging one knee to his chest. Zevran slipped his free arm around the man's shoulders. Bannon moved closer and embraced Alistair from the other side, until all three huddled in a circle, comforting each other.

"It was only a nightmare," Zevran repeated, rubbing their backs. "Put it out of your mind. Think about our battles we have won; how closely we have fought together." He turned and kissed Bannon on the cheek. "Two street rats against the world; they cannot stop us, hm?" He gripped Alistair's shoulder. "And our noble knight. That Archdemon doesn't stand a chance."

Alistair nodded wearily. Bannon's tension began to unwind. Zevran bade them lie down. Alistair curled up on himself, fear warring with a desperate childlike need upon his face. Bannon reached out to him. He brought the human's head to pillow on his arm, putting his other arm around Alistair's shoulders. Zevran curled against Bannon's back, enfolding the elf in his embrace. He reached across and gently gripped Alistair's arm, so he could hold the both of them.

They closed their eyes, and Zevran murmured tales of their previous exploits until they drifted off to sleep.

==_X_==


	26. Battle at Denerim

**Battle at Denerim**

_Content:  
_Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Quick, run from Denerim to Redcliffe to get your army so you can... run right back to Denerim! ARGH!

_Recap:_

Yeah, that about sums it up.

* * *

**Battle at Denerim**

==#==

The last couple of miles of the forced march were taken at a jog. Not by any centralized order, but because the soldiers could see the pall of black smoke hanging over the city of Denerim. Outside the city, it was nearly black as night. With sunset approaching, it would only get darker. Weariness was replaced by the adrenaline-driven need to hurry.

A ragged band of city guards met the army vanguard outside the southern gate, reporting to the Wardens and commanders. Bannon threw a map onto the ground and hunkered down. The commanders of each contingent gathered around, looking.

"The breach in the wall is here, ser." The guardsman pointed to a spot almost due south of the Denerim Estate.

Why hadn't they broken through the gate? Bannon guessed you didn't need to when you had a huge mad Tainted pissed-off dragon on your side. He could only pray the Alienage wall held up better.

"All right, listen up. We need to try to get ahead of them, turn them around and drive them back. Now I want a contingent of royal guards with every unit, soldiers who know the city.

"One will take the Dalish and dwarves up to Arghest Bridge." He pointed at a bridge crossing the middle of the Drakon river, west of the Alienage and Denerim Estate. "Sweep east to the Marketplace. There is an open area, your archers -" he nodded to Dakorien-" will have clear shots."

The Dalish Hunter nodded once.

To Kardol, Bannon said, "Take the dwarves south from the market, across this bridge, and into the alienage. Help the elves there."

"Shouldn't the Dalish fight alongside the elves?" Alistair asked quietly by his side.

Bannon just shook his head. He knew there would be racial tension between the elves and humans, but sending the Dalish into the alienage...? No, the 'flat ears' and 'leaf ears' would not get along smoothly. Dwarves didn't care about elves, one way or the other, and vice versa. Besides, the dwarves only had infantry, and the city elves were best versed with bow and arrow.

"The human troops, go straight up towards the alienage south wall. Hopefully, that will slow them down. Push towards the southeast. Mages and Templars will accompany them."

Irving said, "We will need a place to set up a healing circle."

"You can use the Denerim Estate. It has its own walls, and it's central to the south side, the alienage, and the market."

"Where will the Grey Wardens be?" Greagoir asked.

Bannon looked up, stood. He turned towards the city as if tracing the beacon of a lighthouse. "The Grey Wardens will be hunting the Archdemon."

==#==

The leaders dispersed to give orders. Bannon stopped Teagan for a moment and asked him to send Anselm from his troops. The Redcliffe elf could be his personal runner and messenger. Then Bannon and Alistair met with Riordan and their motley crew.

"All right, Sten, this is the moment you've been waiting so patiently for. Go out into the thick of the horde and start killing."

Sten hefted his sword. "Asala is thirsty for darkspawn blood." The qunari actually looked... excited?

"Shale, see if you can keep up with him."

"Keep up? Pah. I shall surpass him easily."

"Leliana?"

"I will liaise with the Dalish."

Bannon nodded. The Bearer of the Twig was the only human with some pull, there. He turned to his mage. "Wynne?"

"You will need me for healing and support."

Bannon glanced at Alistair. The knight pursed his lips. The elf said to Wynne. "We'll be moving too fast. Stay with the mages."

"Very well." She turned to Morrigan.

"I will go with the Wardens."

Bannon clenched his jaw. "Is that... safe?" he managed. If she got herself killed, that would negate this whole... quickened seed trap within her.

She shrugged icily. "If not, I can always fly away."

"Fine. Oghren?"

"Where's the most fighting gonna be?"

"South side, with the human troops."

"All right. I'll show Horny and Rocky whose score is the biggest." He fondled his axe.

Bannon shook his head, then glanced at his partner in crime. Zevran winked at him. Yes, they were a good influence. Alistair just rolled his eyes heavenwards.

"All right, this is it." Bannon looked at each of his companions. "What we've been working towards. Good luck, and godspeed."

Leliana added, "Andraste's blessing on us all."

"Amen."

They dispersed. Bannon trotted to where Riordan stood, staring off across the city skyline. The old Warden trembled. Bannon realized he himself was tensing to avoid showing tremors.

"We're heading in with the troops aiming for the alienage," he said.

"Yes," Riordan responded. "We will want to find high ground." He blinked and turned to them. "Go to your people. I will strike the killing blow, as promised." His dark eyes met theirs in a silent farewell.

Bannon was about to open his mouth and tell him about Morrigan's plan to save him from the Slayer's Fate, but he all-too-clearly realized she could be lying about the whole thing. He didn't have the heart to get Riordan's hopes up.

Alistair said, "We will remember. Ferelden will remember your sacrifice."

A sad smile pulled at the corners of Riordan's mouth. "Join me, Brothers."

"In kicking some ass!" Bannon made up his own impromptu response.

That prompted a laugh. "Just so, _mes amis!_"

==#==

They made good time, and met very few darkspawn on their roundabout route to the market. They did find several clusters of refugees fleeing the city, and diverted them to the western gate.

The Archdemon circled north in a long figure eight. Bannon's heart leapt into his throat as it swooped over the alienage, but it waited to unleash its fiery breath on the south quarter.

That part of the city was the poorer district. Many homes had wood construction, and soon the grey dark clouds were lit up by the blaze.

"Are you sure we should have split up?" Alistair wondered.

"The mages can handle fire."

A bellow from ahead caught their attention. Standing across the bridge was a giant horned darkspawn.

"Troll!" Bannon yelled at the same time Alistair yelled, "Ogre!" The knight glanced at him. "It's an ogre."

"Whatever! Fall back," the elf called out to the troops, "and split up! _Do not_ get in front of it! Wait for it to charge."

He and Alistair dashed forward to bait the thing into their trap.

"You remember how this goes?"

"Yeah, just like the Tower of Ishal."

"Hopefully better!"

The Wardens mock-charged into the bridge, then fled as the beast lowered its head and charged. They ran through the gauntlet they had set up, and the ogre was cut and smashed along its legs, fletched with feathers along its neck and shoulders.

The creature suddenly stopped, reared with a bellow, clawing at the sky. It teetered as everyone drew back further, then began to topple backwards.

Zevran vaulted over its horns, riding down on its chest. With barely a bobble, he trotted down its torso and lightly jumped to the ground. "And that," he said with a twirl of his blades, "is how you kill an ogre!"

"Wow!" said Anselm.

"Do not encourage him," Morrigan grumbled.

The troops quickly crossed the bridge and turned east. They met more panicked refugees. "Ogres!" they yelled. "There's ogres in the marketplace!"

"Goldana!" Alistair yelped. "Is she with you? Has anyone seen the laundress?"

But the refugees streamed by, with no answers.

"Let's go," the Templar snapped, and began jogging.

"Maybe," Morrigan opined, "you should have brought some taller warriors." The dwarves gave her the stink-eye. "With bigger weapons than arrows." The Dalish frowned.

Bannon turned to Anselm. "Go to the south quarter and find Sten and Shale. Tell them there are ogres in the market. -Better yet, tell them each one is worth ten points."

The youth nodded and took off back the way they'd come.

"We have blades," Dakorien was grumbling to Morrigan. He shot a venomous look at Bannon as well.

"The fight will be won, by all or none," Leliana said. "Morrigan speaks plainly, not to offend, but to point out truths."

Bannon reminded everyone, "Just stay out from in front of the ogres. And don't come up behind them - they kick. Stick to the flanks."

They ran to catch up with Alistair, then hurriedly split into squads to separate and slay the band of ogres.

"How did they get here?" Alistair wondered aloud. Bannon kept his fears of the horde breaking the alienage wall and storming through his home to himself. Right now, they had this mess in front of them to deal with.

==X==


	27. Battle at the Marketplace

**Battle at the Marketplace**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

...busy... working... (where the hell are all the characters?)

special thanks to ShebasDawn for beta review!

* * *

**Battle at the Marketplace**

==#==

The ogre charged the Wardens, who spun aside, then cut at its legs as it sped past. It stumbled and fell, and Zevran leapt upon its unprotected back, stabbing down with gusto.

Alistair approached Bannon as they caught their breath. "I have to check on Goldana."

"Alistair..."

"I know, I know. She doesn't want anything to do with me, she's not really family, I should forget about her and let it go, and it's stupid. But that dream." He saw the same haunted look in the elf's eyes. "I at least have to see if her children are all right - they're innocent."

"All right. Take a squad of dwarves with you."

"Thanks!"

==#==

Bannon waited for the giant slayers with growing anger and unease churning in his stomach. Visions of the nightmare they'd had on the road haunted him; his father, his cousin, in the clutches of the vile darkspawn.

No sooner had Sten and Shale shown up, with Oghren and Wynne tagging along, than Bannon was calling for Zevran and his own squad of dwarves.

Leliana appeared out of the chaos with two Dalish Hunters as escorts. "Where are you going?"

"I have to check on my family. Alistair's already gone to see about his sister."

The nun frowned. "It is not wise for you to split up."

Bannon shook his head, not seeing how that made much difference. "Things are handled here. I'm moving south into the Alienage."

"I will gather archers to accompany you."

He didn't want to argue, so he led a mixed group of dwarves and elves to the gate.

==#==

There were shrieks in the streets. Nevermind great hulking ogres; those were impossible to miss, but the swift and agile - not to mention sneaky - shrieks could leap out from anywhere, even attack from above.

Unfortunately for the shrieks, they couldn't sneak up on Alistair. As soon as he yelled and pointed, the dwarves had their shields up in an interlocking wall while their blades pointed into the attack.

They made it to the laundry. It appeared intact. Alistair pushed the door open with his shield. "Goldana? Kids?" It was deathly quiet, and he feared the worst.

There were piles of clothes in disarrayed heaps, and one jug incongruously left on the kitchen floor. Signs of a struggle? Or simply haste? There was no blood, thank the Maker, but there was the smell of the Taint.

Had the darkspawn been here and kidnapped Goldana and the children? For some nefarious purpose? And if so, then what? Was he to try to track them down through the embattled city? Forsake his duty to the Grey Wardens?

He set the jug down on the table. No. He had to believe they fled with the others. He had a job to do.

"Let's get back to the fight."

==#==

The Alienage gate was manned, only this time by elves. Bannon recognized some of his old cohorts, and those beggars with 'half-foot.' They opened the gate with a ragged cheer.

"Are you drinking!?" Bannon goggled at them.

"Bolstering our courage," Garret declared.

"Save it for the victory celebration!"

"Hear, hear! To victory!" The rogues raised a toast.

"Great," Bannon muttered. "Our fate lies in the hands of drunken idiots."

"'Tis a good way to die," Zevran offered.

Their fate was in the Maker's hands. Bannon hurried to the _vhenedahl_, to the makeshift command center. Dozens of elves were perched high in the sacred tree, bows at the ready, and eyes looking out for attack.

"Shianni!" Bannon found his cousin in the thick of things, a cracked leather cuirass over her tunic, and one of Alarith's old swords at her belt. "Is everything all right?"

She turned. "Yes! We haven't been attacked yet."

"Then how the hell did those ogres get into...?" He frowned and shook his head. All that mattered was that they were there now and needed to be slaughtered. "Nevermind. You-" He was about to tell her how to deploy her troops, but she beat him to it.

"We have the lookouts above, and guards on each gate. We have archers on the rooftops overlooking the streets from the back gate and the bridge.

Bannon heard a smooth voice behind him. "A fine strategy." He turned and saw Dakorian coming through the crowd - he hadn't known that guy was going to tag along. "I have my Hunters similarly deployed in your market clearing."

"Shouldn't you be with them?" Bannon grumbled to himself. Zevran elbowed him hard with a snicker.

Shianni gaped at the dark-haired wild elf, his forehead crowned with tattoos.

"I am Dakorien," he said, "First Hunter of the Teirhylle Clan."

"I-I-I-I'm, um, Shianni." She blushed.

Bannon rolled his eyes. "If you're here to help," he pointedly ordered the Dalish, "you should get your people to the front lines, where they can fight with bow and blade."

"Of course, Warden." He turned to deploy his Hunters.

"Wow, cousin," Shianni said, leaning close and lowering her voice. "You really have gone places!"

Zevran quipped, "You have no idea."

Bannon kicked him, and nearly blurted out that Dakorian probably fancied the Antivan more than he did her, but realized it was best not to let Zevran know that. He changed the subject. "Now, what about traps?"

==#==

Back in the market, the ogres had all been dealt with. Various warriors milled around, catching their breath. Alistair let his dwarves regroup with their comrades. He followed his senses and found the Orlesian Warden scanning the smoky skies.

"Riordan? Hey...? Where's Bannon?"

"Head south, _mes ami_. The horde moves against us here."

"We can head to the alien-"

"_Non._ They have locked the gate. Go there-" He turned and pointed towards an avenue on the southwest side. "To the estate where the mages are. Defend them."

"All right," Alistair said, frowning at the other man in concern. "But what about you?"

Riordan's eyes drifted back to the sky. "I do not need a gate..."

"Uhm... all right." The man was about to die; Alistair had to leave him to it. He trotted back towards the center of the marketplace. "Hey, Wynne! Shale! We're moving to the Denerim Estate. Everybody! Move out!"

The tapestry of various soldiers flowed towards the estate grounds. Wynne came by, leaning heavily on her staff. She paused a moment by Alistair.

"Are you all right?" he asked her.

"Yes. I've been protecting and healing Shale, Sten, and Oghren."

He nodded. "Riordan says we should fall back and defend the mages."

"And Bannon?"

"Already defending the alienage."

Wynne nodded. "Let's go, Shale."

"As you wish." The golem clomped over, following Wynne.

"Sten," Alistair called. "Come on!"

"No!"

"Argh, why didn't I tell him to do the opposite of what I meant?" the former Templar grumbled to himself. "Sten, the horde is coming. We'll be safer inside the gates."

"I do not need to be safer," the horned giant said calmly.

"Are you _trying_ to die?"

"No. Only serving my sentence for murder."

Alistair frowned. _'Murderers and thieves,'_ the dwarves had called them. He shrugged. He'd never known a finer company of loyal adventurers. "All right. Good luck!"

He turned to follow the rest of the fighters. A skinny young elf darted against the tide. "Ser Alistair!" It was that elf kid that had been following Bannon around. Anselm, that was his name. "Where is Ser Bannon?"

"He's in the alienage. Stick with me, kid," he said before Anselm could run off. "And we'll find him. I hear there's a back gate." He looked speculatively in that general direction. Then he caught a glimpse of red hair. "Leliana! We're expecting a push!" he called to the Chantry Sister. "Falling back to the estate!"

"I will relay that, Alistair," she called back. "But the Dalish have secured their high ground. They may wish to stay."

"As long as they're ready! Keep an eye out for Sten, too!" Alistair waved the last warriors through the gate, then more people raced down the avenue from the west. Some of the refugees, citizens of Denerim, and some of the city guard.

"The darkspawn are coming!"

"Get inside the gate!" Alistair roared.

"Close the gates!"

"They're attacking the wounded!"

"Help us!"

Alistair saw a wagon behind the stragglers. Four men were struggling to pull it - no horse would be reliable near the horde. A handful of darkspawn bore down on them, screaming and slathering. A shriek leapt ahead of its brethren, gained the tailgate. It let out its ear-piercing cry of victory.

Alistair turned towards the estate. "_Hold that gate!_" he commanded, already running towards the wagon, sword out. He caught Anselm out of the corner of his eye; he'd meant for the lad to go to safety, but the elf grabbed the wagon traces alongside the men and pulled.

Alistair drew abreast of the cart and yelled at the shriek, "Come on, Fangy! Try a Grey Warden!"

The beast glared at him, confused for a moment, then its eyes filled with baleful hatred. With another scream, it launched itself straight at his face.

Alistair caught it on his shield and lifted, launching the creature across the avenue, into a trio of refuse barrels. It crashed in a tangle of long limbs, splintered barrel staves, hoops, and rubbish.

He didn't bother to look. He strode to the back of the wagon and _pushed_. His Grey Warden strength leant it new speed towards the estate. No sooner had it outstripped him than he turned, lashing out with his sword, cleaving two genlocks across the face. A hurlock came in ahead of its companions, axe raised.

Alistair didn't feel like waiting. The shriek was still down, but surely not dead. It was probably waiting to leap on his unprotected back. He charged the hurlock, caught it off balance. He rammed his shield into its teeth, knocking it onto its back. His sword thrust down, punching through leather and ribs.

The other darkspawn of the vanguard swarmed him, and the damned shriek jumped him from behind. Alistair broke left, charging right over a genlock. The shriek crashed into two hurlocks, and Alistair stabbed it through the spine.

He raised a boot to its backside to free his sword while shoving the hurlocks to the ground. He whipped left again to handle the genlock. Their blades clashed, again and again.

Now Alistair jumped back, throwing the genlock off balance. His sword found its neck, and its blood spattered his shield. Then he was on the two remaining hurlocks, making every sword cut count. He could feel the tide nearing. He could feel the Archdemon circling overhead.

He left the hurlocks crippled, bleeding out. He ran to the Denerim Estate, where four of the city guard were holding the gates half open. "_Now_ secure the gate," Alistair told them as he jogged in.

"Yes, ser!"

==#==

Wynne looked around at the six healing circles. All the mages, young and old, looked so tired. They couldn't stop. Lives depended upon them. They had a few to spare who could sit out a few minutes, then spell those who needed rest most. But they could use more.

Wynne marched to the foyer. "Morrigan!"

The witch stood near the front windows, looking out. She didn't bother to turn.

"We need you in the healing circles."

"I am not a Circle mage."

"You're a mage, and there are wounded. Soldiers fighting for our very survival."

"They are not my concern."

Wynne frowned and walked right up to her. "You've clung to your self-serving attitude long enough. Whatever scheme you're up to, you're here now, and standing idle. There's _no_ reason not to help."

"My reasons are my o-"

"Don't give me that crap! Honestly, you'd think you're afraid of a little altruism. It won't kill you, you know."

"I..."

"I've seen your power." Wynne narrowed her eyes. "And you've seen mine."

"And what would your vaunted Templars say if they knew?" the witch threatened.

"In the middle of a battle to save the very world?" Wynne scoffed. "No one has a chance to be that picky right now. And they don't have time to hunt apostates, if _that's_ what you're afraid of."

"Hardly."

"Good. Then come on." She didn't give Morrigan any choice in the matter.

==#==

"Help! _Help!_ The darkspawn are coming! The darkspawn are coming!" Half-Foot led the rogue gate brigade running across the bridge.

"He moves fast for a lame guy," Zevran noted.

Bannon ran over to head off their retreat. "How many? What kind?"

"The whole flaming horde!"

"Is the gate closed?"

"Yes!"

"Locked?"

"_Yes!_"

Bannon grabbed the elf by the shoulders, then snaked out a hand to grab one of his cohorts trying to slip past. "Get out your traps! Line the bridge!"

"What!?"

"We're not going back there!"

"They'll break through!"

"We have time," Bannon snapped. "Get out there!" He shoved at the rogues. "Left! Right! Left!" he directed them. "Gimme some traps, I'll go to the other end! Zev, help them 'organize'!" He shot the assassin a meaningful look, then grabbed the bag handed to him and jogged to the far end of the bridge.

The darkspawn saw him and renewed their fury against the Alienage gate, gnashing and breaking their teeth on the iron bars. Luckily, there wasn't an ogre among them, and hopefully all the ogres were dead.

He turned his back on them, not that they couldn't see what he was doing, but he hoped they were too stupid - or too obsessed - to bother trying to avoid the traps.

He could still hear them, though. Howling for his blood. He could smell them, _feel_ them, the dank tide of Taint threatening to drown his home.

_Just one more. Just one more._ Every trap set could save dozens of lives.

The gate rang with repeated attempts to knock it out of its tracks with brute force. Random crashes began to come into synch, slamming louder and louder. The metal whined with stress.

_Just one more. Just -!_ His bag was empty.

Bannon jumped up and sprinted for the other side of the bridge, a collective scream of fury chasing him. Did the rogues plant the traps right? Left, right? Which way? Where?

He saw Zevran at the end of the bridge, waving his arms? No - signalling. Bannon followed his directions and made it to safety.

With no breath for thanks, he drew his blades and turned in time to see the results of his handiwork.

In the distant sky, the Archdemon roared. Its minions trebled their attack and smashed the gate. Like diseased sewage, the darkspawn flooded the alienage. The front line hit the arc of traps Bannon had laid. Hurlocks and genlocks fell under the tide that barely slowed down.

The Warden took a deep breath and gripped his sword hilts. Behind him, elves were screaming, but only wails of fear; high, thin cries. Not the raw-throated screams of the dying. And it wouldn't come to that, not if he could help it.

He felt a surge of power in his heart, his core. He stepped forward onto the bridge, the narrow choke point.

The traps closer to the middle broke up the horde's charge, threw it into disarray, slowed the flood to more of a trickle.

Bannon waded in, swords whirling.

==_X_==

* * *

_End Notes:_

That last scene is actually in one of my first Dragon Age music videos. Wow. Such history! :)


	28. Fort Drakon

**Fort Drakon**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

I don't know if I already had a chapter named Fort Drakon. If so, then this one is named... "Stairs!"

special thanks to ShebasDawn for beta reading!

* * *

**Fort Drakon**

==#==

Bannon looked around, panting, but there were no more darkspawn - not alive. There was a swath of bodies around him.

"Wow, cousin!" The voice from behind startled him, and he whirled. Of course, it was only Shianni. He hadn't been able to sense her approach. "You make one hell of a Grey Warden."

"Yeah, I-" The cocky reply died on his lips when he felt the Archdemon's presence resonate in his bones. He turned back towards the gate, looking up. The Archdemon scythed through the sky. He saw it _looking_ at him. Coming for him. It swooped.

"Get back!" he yelled, though his feet were rooted to the spot. He couldn't endanger his people.

The immense dragon dove low over the Drakon River and unleashed a white-hot ball of hell on the bridge. Stones exploded into the air, rained outward. Bannon was thrown back, nearly on his ass, and chunks of paving and mortar slammed down around him.

"Is that Riordan?" he heard Alistair say. The Templar ran up beside him.

The Archdemon swept past the tower at the gate, and a lone figure leapt from out onto the beast's back. How in the Darkened City Riordan had known to climb and wait there, Bannon didn't know.

He and Alistair held their breaths, waiting for the Grey Warden to finish the Archdemon and end the Blight.

Riordan got astride the base of the neck as the dragon rose. He hunched, stabbed with his swords. It didn't seem it would do anything - bee stings to a beast so huge and armored- but the attacks were powered by a Warden's strength and determination.

The great demon roared and bucked in the air. Riordan struck with a singular purpose, determined to kill this monster even if he had to hack its neck off inch by inch. Black blood rained down as the beast climbed higher into the sky.

Then it swerved, tipping sideways. For a racing heartbeat, Riordan hung in the air. Then he fell.

He twisted, lashed out with hand and foot. One sword pierced the hardened leather of the Archdemon's wing. Then he stabbed through with the other. The dragon screamed again, staggered in the sky. Could a fall kill it?

It flapped, and Riordan held on, but his swords began to cut through the wing. Faster and faster; he was at the mercy of gravity. He ran out of wing and plummeted, down down... to the city streets far below.

A great swath of the Archdemon's wing hung loose. The creature faltered in the air, unable to gain lift.

It flapped, limped crookedly across the city skyline. With a determined heave, it flung itself up against the tower of Fort Drakon. It roared in frustration, summoning its minions. Then it began to climb.

Far below, across the city, Alistair and Bannon breathed again. Numbly, they considered what they had witnessed.

"He's grounded it for us," Alistair said.

"On top of the highest tower. Great," Bannon added. He turned away from the ruined bridge. They'd have to cut through the Denerim Estate. "We'll need mages and Templars."

Oghren grumbled as the elf passed him. "Twiddlers and skirt-wearers? What's wrong with good, stout dwarves? We're ready!"

"It's on top of a tower," Bannon reiterated, pointing high into the air. "Stairs!"

"So?"

"Trust me, stairs are bad."

"We got stairs in Orzammar," the dwarf grumbled.

"The Legion are ready," Karadol added.

"The Legion and Oghren can come. The rest of you, stay here and secure the alienage!"

==#==

At least the Dalish listened. Bannon hadn't wanted them in the alienage, but they were there now. Half the non-Legion dwarves tagged along with the Wardens. Alistair told the Templars and mages to get ready. They left half the healers, under Wynne's leadership, in the estate to tend to the wounded. They took all their battle mages, along with Morrigan. Shale elected to stay with Wynne. No one knew where Sten went, probably out facing darkspawn 'til he died. Everyone else headed to Fort Drakon.

The dwarves didn't make it up the stairs. Not when the steps were set at human height. The Legion remained on the fifth floor, barring the passage of any darkspawn who heeded the Archdemon's wailing call.

The mages flew lightly upwards, the Templars at a more conservative pace. The Wardens had their strength and stamina to draw on, but Bannon still cursed every flight. Zevran saved his breath for wheezing.

They slowed as they approached the roof access, for want of having strength for the fight. Bannon called a halt, at ease with a delay, as the Archdemon wasn't going anywhere. "Catch your breath," he directed. "We have time."

After a minute of heeding his own advice, he issued orders to his troops. "This is imperative! You must _not_ kill the Archdemon. Do everything you can to cripple it, immobilize it, but it _must_ be a Grey Warden who deals the final blow. This is not for our glory - the Taint unleashed by this beast will corrupt anyone who gets too close to it without the protection the Wardens have."

He looked over the mages, hoping none of them, or the Templars, got any ideas about stealing the glory. But no, these were educated mages and disciplined Templars. "Let us take another moment to gather ourselves and pray."

Zevran said, "We should scout ahead, you and I. See what the situation is before we charge in there."

"Sneak up on the Archdemon, kill it ourselves before the others arrive?" Bannon smiled with fond memories of doing that in several situations.

"If the opportunity presents itself. Why not?"

Bannon pressed a hand to his head. "I can't go," he realized. "It will know."

"I will do it," Zevran said, and slipped away before Bannon could argue.

==#==

Greagoir and Irving sat at the foot of the stairs with Alistair. "There's ballistae up there," the Warden was saying. "As I recall."

The Knight Commander nodded. "I'll take three small groups to secure and man those."

"As long as none of them lands a heart shot, we should be good," Alistair said distractedly. He rubbed his head.

"The Templars will form a shield wall in an arc before the entrance. The mages can cast from behind us, and any wounded can be pulled back into the shelter of the entryway."

"That will not work," said Zevran, walking over with Bannon in tow. "I have scouted ahead. At the top of these stairs is a long straight hall leading to the rooftop area. The Archdemon can peer down it and shoot its flame into it, cooking us all."

The assassin hunkered down with the rest of the war council. He drew a dagger and scratched a sketch into the stone floor. "The hall is here. It opens into a circle of six walls, but is lopsided, here. This may be a cozy place to shelter your mages, or a death trap if the Archdemon incinerates everyone all at once."

Bannon said, "Instead of one wall, you should have smaller, more mobile groups. If it targets any one, they can retreat, and the others attack its flanks."

"Just so." Zevran nodded. "There are five ballistae, here, here, here..." He poked with the dagger at his map. "They are all facing outwards of course. It will be no easy matter to get them hauled around."

"And," Bannon noted, "They are big, stationary targets. You think it's not worth the risk?"

"I think it would be fabulous to have a huge wooden shaft stuck through the hindquarters of this terrible beast. Two men can attempt to turn them. They will need to be replaced quickly if they fall."

Greagoir nodded grimly.

"How's the Archdemon look?" Alistair asked warily.

"Huge."

"Bigger than the dragon in Highever?"

"Much."

"_Brasca_," said Bannon.

"Its wing is torn and cannot support it long in flight. But, sadly, the limb itself is not crippled. It bleeds from the neck, but..." The assassin shrugged. "Again, sadly, not as much as we would like."

"Ideas for strategy?"

"Just the usual. It may be vulnerable in the armpit and groin. I am not so sure about the belly in particular, as that has scales. The knights should concentrate on hacking at its limbs - leg muscles especially. If it is crippled and cannot turn, we will be at a better advantage."

Alistair added, "Watch out for the tail."

"And the wings."

Greagoir said, "I will find men for ballistae duty." He went to look for volunteers among his troops.

Alistar said, "What's our plan of attack?"

"The hallway is a deathtrap," Bannon insisted. "And it'll sense us as soon as we step foot in it." He took a breath. "The mages and Templars will have to deploy first. And it would be best if the Archdemon were distracted away from the tunnel." He looked over at Zevran.

The assassin smiled. "I will go ahead and capture its attention. After all, it is just a big lizard!"

Bannon felt his throat constrict until he couldn't speak. He nodded.

Before the assassin could reply, the Archdemon shrieked, it's keening wail ripping through the air, through the very stones of the Keep. Zevran winced as the sound lanced through his spine and skull. Only decades of weathering abuse and torture allowed him to supress the urge to clap his hands over his ears. Everyone else did - even stoic Greagoir and stodgy Irving. It probably didn't help, anyway.

"What's happening?" Greagoir shouted over the din.

The Wardens hadn't stopped their ears, which wasn't surprising, them being made of sterner stuff. But more troublesome, they had that glazed-eye faraway look, and trembled like rabbits about to flee.

Zevran punched Bannon in the arm. The Denerim elf recoiled against Alistair. At least it let him shake off whatever it was.

Alistair, voice still a bit distant, said, "It's summoning the Horde."

"Here?" Greagoir asked in alarm.

Zevran interrupted. "It is the perfect time to sneak up on it." The howl paused for the dragon to breathe, then arose again with renewed power. "Snap out of it!" He punched the Wardens again.

"Ow," Alistair complained.

"We're about to start the attack. Are you going to join us when it is time?"

"Yes. Yes, we're ready." The knight rubbed his head again. Bannon crossed his arms and gripped his biceps. He nodded again.

Greagoir and Irving readied their troops to deploy. Zevran said, "Wait for my signal, then rush out as swiftly as you can."

"What is your signal?" Greagoir asked as the First Mage cast protections over the assassin.

"It will be quite loud, don't worry." Zevran flashed a grin, and one of the grenades he still had left. He shot a wink at Bannon, but not one for long good-byes, he darted ahead without another word.

Bannon swallowed hard. He didn't know what he'd do if Zevran died, but he couldn't think about that now. He might not have long enough to worry about it. The Archdemon could kill him... or, potentially worse, _he_ could kill _it_, and risk the annihilation of his very soul.

His eyes sought Morrigan, where she stood among the mages like a raven in the dovecote. She did not look his way.

==#==

"Are we gonna aid the Wardens or not?" Oghren snapped. "Ya bunch of namby-pamby, wobble-kneed... _dead guys!_"

"I said, we're heading downstairs!" Kardol stepped up and rammed his breastplate against Oghren's. The warrior was braced for it and barely budged.

"Wardens are upstairs!"

"With five times as many stairs between here and there! Fucking battle will be over by the time we get there."

"The Treaty says we help the Wardens!"

"They said to guard against the horde!" Kardol gave an extra shove to emphasize each word. "It's stupid to wait _inside a fortress_ when we can stop 'em at the gates!"

"The Horde ain't _here!_ There's a damned city fulla soldiers and guards and sodding elves between there and-"

A rising wail obliterated the rest of his words. The two dwarven warriors jumped back from each other.

"Bleeding Ancestors!"

"My sodding teeth!" Oghren rubbed his jaw until eventually the noise subsided. "The fuck was that?"

"Tainted call," the Dead Legionnaire informed him. "The darkspawn howl something like that just before the tunnels flood with 'em."

"Shit."

The infernal howl rose again, through the very stones of the fortress.

"We go down to the gate!" Kardol yelled over the din.

This time, Oghren didn't argue.

==#==

A scream rolled through the sky like thunder. All the healers looked up in worry. Wynne stood and grabbed her staff. "Keep the circles unbroken," she admonished the young mages.

She herself went to the gate, leaning heavily on her staff. Her eyes sought out the Tower above the skyline, as her mind played over the possibilities.

Shake stomped up beside her. "What racket is this?"

"It must be the Archdemon."

"Is it hurt? It cries out like any other squishy creature."

Wynne detected a hint of worried bravado in the golem's voice. "Somehow, I think we're not so lucky." She felt a surge of the spirit inside her, making up her mind. "We have to get there."

"I will not carry you."

"No, Shale." She took a breath and walked out of the estate grounds. "I can hurry. But if you could please close those gates?"

"A trifling matter."

The metal slammed home, and the golem's stone tread paced behind her.

"This is the way the Horned One went," Shale mused.

"Perhaps we'll meet him on the way."

==#==

Teagan's arm ached from swinging his sword. Not time to rest, it was fight or die. Don't think about the enormity of the endless Horde. Just focus on the ones in front of you. Attack, defend, strike.

Then, a space opened around him. He panted for breath. Was that it? Then he heard it. A distant wail, a howl in the blackened skies.

The darkspawn flowed away, like the retreating tide. Teagan staggered back a step, glanced to Murdock at his side.

"Blessed Maker," panted the sheriff. "Are they retreating?"

Teagan dared not hope. Had they won?

No. Shouts came up the line, through the streets. The Horde was heading north, into the city, not away from it.

Teagan turned to look at the spire of Drakon's mighty tower. The distant siren wail seemed to emanate from it.

"Ser?" Murdock asked. "What's it mean?"

"It means our work is not yet done." Teagan trotted to the closest group of city guardsmen. "We need to cut them off! Rally the troops! Defend the city!"

Shouts passed up and down the lines. The human armies dug deep into the reserves of their strength to answer the call. To defend their people, to the last.

==#==

Shianni watched, mouth agape, as the darkspawn fled, en masse. Even over the broken bridge, leaping into the polluted water of the Drakon river. _Well, it can't get any dirtier._

Around her, the elves of Denerim let out a ragged cheer. Those that still stood, and had enough voice. The Dalish, however, remained stone.

Their leader, Dakorian, appeared at her side. "This does not bode well."

"Y'think?"

Shianni shouldered her bow and climbed to a higher rooftop. To the north, she could see darkspawn retreating through the market. But the streets to the east and west filled with more shadowy shapes from the south. "They're heading... _there!_" She pointed as the Dalish Hunter climbed up beside her. "Fort Drakon! Where the Archdemon went. Where-" She gasped in realization. "Where Bannon and his friends went! We have to stop them!"

Without waiting for a response, she leapt down to the next level. As she got within earshot of the archers, she began yelling out orders to group leaders. "You! Ben! Siri! Double-time through the estate! We need to kill those darkspawn as they come through Watchtower road. Akin! Guard the healers! You lot-!" She stumbled to a halt as the Dalish archers gave her a cold stare.

She licked her lips. "Cambrin, Lessa! You guys know the Gold Road, right? You hang out with Bannon enough." The Gold Road was a thieves' route over the rooftops around the markets square and into the noble quarter. "Take the Dalish, spread out, feather those darkspawn!"

The thieves looked askance at her, and the Dalish, who still stared.

Shianni was about to go full redhead on them, but then their eyes went past her. She turned and saw Dakorien. "Look-" she started.

He held up an imperious hand and she fumed. But then he said, "We will follow the - the _durgathan hahren_. She knows the lay of the land."

With that, the city elves and wild elves became one.

"All right!" Shinanni dusted her hands with a loud clap. "Let's move! Zak! Organize the archers! We'll need a relay of runners supplying arrows and healing kits. _Let's move!_"

==#==

Sten stood inside the gate of the human kingdom's great fortress, Asala gleaming in his hand. The Wardens had gone this way, and it was clear the Archdemon would call the Horde this way as well. At last, he could face them, one-on-thousands, as he was sentenced to.

He took a deep, calming breath.

"Who's that blighter?"

"Hey, Horny!"

Sten blew his calming breath back out in ire and turned. Dwarves, some in black, some in silver or red, came across the courtyard. "I see it is the Hairy One," he commented. "What are you doing here? Were you not to aid the Wardens?"

The red one shot a look at the black one. "We're aidin' the Wardens," he grumbled.

"Get out of the way," said the other. "We're closing the gate."

"No."

"Look, dumbass, do I have to explain the whole plan to ya? Step one, lock the bloody sodding gate and let 'em break their teeth tryin' to open it."

Sten had to grudgingly admit, the dwarves' plan was a sound strategy. He even said so to the human _saarebas_ when she showed up with the golem.

"The Legion crossbowyers will feather them from the walls," the black dwarf explained to all the newcomers. "The inside of the courtyard will be thick with traps." He gestured to the Legionnaires busy working on the flagstone floor. "Then the regulars can hold 'em at the door."

The mage asked, "How will your Legionnaires retreat inside?"

The dwarf just gave her a flat look. "They won't."

"But-"

"We're already dead, remember?"

"But-"

"Humboldt is in charge of the warriors. Look to him for commands."

Oghren said, "I thought I was in charge!"

To which Kardol said, "Oghren, you ain't in charge of but two things. Jack, and shit."

"And Jack just left town," Humboldt added.

The redhead growled.

Wynne said, "Oghren, you're with the Grey Warden auxiliary. You can be my personal guard, along with Shale."

"The Hairy One is not in charge of me," the golem stated.

"I'm in charge of _me!_" Oghren burst out. "Legion of One!"

==#==

According to Zevran's later recounting, he strolled out onto the roof of Fort Drakon, casually tossing and catching a grenade in one hand, while the Archdemon was 'caterwauling like a lovesick alley cat behind a whorehouse.' When he arrived at the wall furthest from the entryway, he looked up and yelled, 'Hey, you stupid ugly big lizard - _shut the fuck up!_'

The Archdemon snapped its jaw shut and blinked down at him, stupefied. Zevran may or may not have then flipped it the bird (depending on how many embellishments he was adding to his story), upon which it snarled angrily and spat out a gout of black flame that smelled worse than 'a dozen Antivan tanneries put together.'

Zevran dove and rolled out of the way, came up with the grenade cocked back, and threw it straight into the beast's maw, where it detonated loudly, engulfing the Archdemon's head in a gout of orange flame and smoke.

'Oops,' thought Zevran, 'I wasn't supposed to kill it.' But fortunately, it didn't die. Just got more pissed off.

No one wanted to believe this version of the story, but one young mage insisted he _had_ heard the Antivan yell out that exact phrase. And, of course, everyone heard the explosion.

After that, the mages cast protections, the Templars raced into action, and the battle dissolved into pockets of chaos.

==#==

When Bannon arrived, corpses already littered the flagstones. Templars were forming lines of defense, and the Archdemon was spewing Tainted flame across them, or sweeping them aside with its tail. There was a suit of armor against the wall, chestplate crumpled, helm and arms askew, blood leaking from every joint and tear.

But he also saw mages behind the Circle's knights, casting. Armor glowed with magical protection. Fallen knights arose, their injuries healed. Fire, ice, lightning, and leven-bolts assaulted the beast. When it lunged for the mages, Templars threw themselves in its path, human shields to protect their charges.

It was a brief glimpse of a powerful alliance, not of keepers and their dangerous prisoners.

Bannon tore his eyes away from the bodies to look for Zevran among the living. "Split up," he told Alistiar. "Good luck."

"You, too."

They traced different paths to the Archdemon. It was huge, its presence overwhelming to the Wardens' minds. They had to hold to their purpose, to kill it. At all costs.

Bannon felt the warmth and tingle of magical protections around him. At least that part of the plan was working. Lightning and flame lit the air in violent flashes. Screams and blasts of magical power filled the towertop arena.

==#==

Darkspawn howls filled the courtyard beyond the fort's mighty doors. They screamed, they growled, they grew ever closer. Vocalizations of the living became fewer and far between. Wynne couldn't take it anymore. "Open the doors!"

"Are you mad?" Commander Humbolt replied.

"I can save them!"

"No! We stick to the plan! The doors stay shut."

Oghren growled, "Humbolt, you puking coward!"

Shale nudged him aside. "If you wish the doors open," he told Wynne, "Here." The golem lifted the massive bar out of the way, pulled the leftmost door open.

The mage hurried into the breach, before the dwarven warriors could intervene. With a shout, she cast her stone fist, which blasted down upon the courtyard of writhing darkspawn like a meteor from the heavens.

Shale barrelled out and went to Sten's side, rallying the flagging qunari. Together, they drove the horde back. Wynne cast a healing circle, revitalizing the Legion within the courtyard.

"Retreat!" Kardol yelled, but he stood his ground. His hammer and Oghren's axe went to work beside the giants.

Tainted bodies piled up. Then something shot into the air, little more than a blur with a high-pitched shriek. Before the warriors could react, it darted around them, and leapt on the back of the last Legionnaire. The rest turned, struck out at it.

With another inhuman cry, it darted inside, dodging blows. It attacked the reserve dwarves.

"Get back inside!" Wynne yelled, leading the way.

The two dwarves, qunari, and golem fell back, pursued by the ravening horde. Within, the reserve dwarves struggled to close the door against the tide. One by one, the shriek pounced and felled them. The air grew thick with the smell of blood and the unholy Taint.

Wynne turned, threw her arms outward. "_Spiritus Defendat!_"

A silent wave of white light burst forth, bathing the entire area. Tainted beasts howled and died, turned to ash. Fallen warriors rose again, hale and well. Together, they rushed the doors, pushed them shut. Shale fetched the bar and slammed it into place.

"There!" The golem turned. "Is there anything else the mage req- Wynne?"

The mage lay crumpled on the floor; Shale moved carefully to her side and crouched down. "Wynne!"

She stirred, her eyelids fluttering.

Sten looked to the dwarves. "Where are the healers?"

"Up top, with the Wardens."

"They must come, at once!" Shale insisted.

Wynne reached a hand up to him. "No, Shale."

"You require aid."

"I'm too weak. My time is up."

Stone brows clashed in a frown. "No. No, I will carry you." Gently, Shale took her frail form in his arms, and stood, cradling her to his chest. He turned and headed for the stairs.

==X==


	29. The Archdemon

**The Archdemon**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

The Final part of the Final Battle. FINALLY!

Props to the In This Moment fans! \m/

* * *

**The Archdemon**

==#==

The Archdemon seemed to sense that the ballistae could harm it. Or maybe it had some sort of malevolent intelligence - Alistair didn't want to contemplate that. One ballista was smashed from the sweep of the Archdemon's tail; one was billowing a thick caustic black smoke from the fiend's breath.

When one team of knights got their apparatus armed and ready to fire, the Archdemon heaved itself into the air, flapping like a drunken bat above the skirmish, and landed at the other end of the roof. It set upon the emplacement, biting at the knights, clawing at the bolt, dislodging it.

Now Alistair hacked at the thing's neck, braving its dark flame with his battered shield. He struck, and the Archdemon whipped away. Alistair jumped back, looking for the tail to come around.

Instead, the Archdemon struck out towards another of the ballistae and shot black flame under it, engulfing the three Templars struggling to turn it. They screamed, clutching at the eyeslits of their helms.

Alistair saw the Knight Commander charge up the steps to take their place, struggling alone with the heavy bulk. Alistair ran to help him, lending his Warden strength. They heaved the heavy emplacement around.

Alistair glanced over his shoulder. The Archdemon was positioned about perfectly, side on, a broad target. "Bannon! Keep it there!" Just a few more desperate seconds.

==#==

Bannon heard Alistair's yell. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the knight struggling with the ballista. So far those had proven useless - destroyed before they could be aimed, or lobbing a huge bolt through the melee, missing the infernal dragon and threatening the defenders.

The thief had been working on the Archdemon's ankles. He'd thought to hamstring it, cripple it, but its thews were a bit too mighty. So he settled for chipping at a tendon here and there. Or maybe he could score a talon.

At any rate, getting it to stand still for the ballista shot was going to require that he get its attention.

He disengaged from its stomping feet and traveled under the belly. He met Zevran gamely trying to wedge a sword into a belly scale to pry it off.

"We need to hold it steady!"

"With what?" the assassin demanded.

"Our charm and wit," the thief shot back.

Zevran shrugged and followed his _patrone_, his _amore'_.

"Hey! Down here!" Bannon waved at the monster like an idiot, thankful to feel the tingling glow of magical protection envelop him. He was going to need it. "Your breath is terrible! Stick your head down here, and I'll clean your teeth!"

It snapped at him, and he rolled aside.

"No, no, no!" the Antivan called. "_My_ services are _much_ better than his!" He danced away from another chomp.

"They are not!"

"They are, and you agree!"

"I never!"

"I believe your exact word was 'incredible'!"

"I'm gonna kill you!"

The two elves capered and dodged back and forth in front of the Archdemon, crossing paths, switching sides, moving towards the beast when it started to edge too far forward.

==#==

"Alistair, look out," Greagoir grunted.

"Just a little... further..."

"No, _NOW!_"

Alistair leapt back as the Knight Commander triggered the firing mechanism. The treetrunk bolt shot past his head with a rush of hot wind.

The Archdemon had worked its way forward in its pursuit of the annoying elves, so they didn't achieve a heart shot, but the bolt chewed through the dragon's flank and belly, right at its groin. It roared and tried to rear up, but its hindquarters gave out, and it toppled over.

Bannon and Zevran wasted no time leaping upon the downed beast. Bannon stabbed into the armored chest while Zevran worked on dissecting the still-flapping wing. Alistair charged forward towards the exposed underbelly.

The Archdemon wasn't dead yet, and not about to give up without a fight, either. It roared again, screamed its siren call for the horde to come to its aid. Its neck and tail thrashed; its foreclaws raked at the air, desperate to slash anything that came near.

The Templars closed in, swords rising and falling relentlessly. Mage bolts and lightning converged on the fallen beast. It shook off its attackers like a dog with fleas, but they kept coming back.

==#==

Bannon worked his way up the chest to the neck, trying not to lose his footing on the ichor-slicked scales that heaved and twitched beneath him. He remembered his Fade dream of glorious battle - keep your eyes focused right in front of you and it wasn't so hard. And it was working! Dare he try to run up its neck?

A huge CRACK rent the air as Morrigan appeared before the Archdemon and sent an arc of lightning into its brain. The monster started to scream, but bit its own tongue as its muscles all seized.

A tremor rippled through the massive body, finally throwing the elves off. Zevran twisted in mid-air like a cat, landed on his feet, overbalanced, and fell on his face. Bannon was thrown head first, but managed to tuck into a roll, losing his swords as he caught himself on his hands.

Alistair gave the assassin a hand up.

The blinding flash ceased with the snap of arcane tang, and the Archdemon went limp, a low groan issuing from deep in its throat as its head fell to the flagstones, smoking slightly from its lips and nostrils.

"Stop!" Alistair commanded. "Stop attacking! Fall back!"

Knight Commander Greagoir added his authoritarian bellow, and the Templars and mages cleared away from the huge corpse. A cry of 'someone needs help' came from the vicinity of the entryway, and they moved off in that direction.

"Is it dead?" Alistair wondered. Then the Archdemon's chest rose slowly, and fell, like a great bellows.

"Of course not," Morrigan snapped, moving closer to the three men. "If I could kill it myself, I wouldn't have needed to bother with you lot." She singled out Zevran for a personal glare. "A _Warden_ must do it," she emphasized.

Alistair and Bannon looked at each other. This was it, then. The end of the Blight - and possibly the eternal end of the Warden who slayed it. Alistair said, "I think you should do it."

Bannon looked over at the beast, fear trying to hide behind his eyes. All he had for hope was the witch's promise.

Alistair continued. "No matter what happens, it will be good for your people to have an elven hero."

Bannon swallowed, then his eyes turned to Zevran.

Alistair bit his lip. "If you rather I did..."

Morrigan sighed. "Well _someone_ do it, before it regains its strength."

"I'll do it." Bannon snapped out of his doubts and paralysis. "You're right, it should be me. For the elves of Ferelden."

Alistair nodded.

"Uh... can I borrow your sword?"

"Sure!" Alistair gave him the longsword.

"We just need a moment," Bannon said quietly, moving towards the Archdemon. "Zev." The Antivan followed.

Alistair watched them move off, but sidled towards Morrigan, pushing her back with her distaste for people's proximity, especially his. He noticed her eyes narrowed in focus as she tried to eavesdrop on the elves. "Hey, Morrigan... explain to me again why you think I'm stupid...?"

She huffed in exasperation. "If you can't figure it out..."

"No, that's what you always say, but I think you really just don't know."

It was working; the witch was thoroughly distracted and missed the elves' final goodbyes.

==#==

Bannon and Zevran moved closer to the Archdemon's head. Its eyelids fluttered, its lip twitched. A low groan accompanied its next exhalation.

"We don't have much time," Zevran said, his voice tight with worry.

"I know, and I'm sorry." Bannon turned to face him. "Zevran, it was worth it."

The assassin frowned and glared at the floor, fighting down maudlin emotion. He felt a light touch, the back of his lover's fingers brushing his cheek, along the flowing tattooed lines.

Then Bannon gripped his neck, pulled him close, into a kiss. A kiss of fierceness and longing. Zevran responded, but the upwelling of feelings threatened to break the dam within his heart.

He didn't want to feel. Not this, not _now_. Tomorrow, maybe, if they were still alive.

Bannon broke the kiss and enveloped him in a tight embrace. Not passionate, but strong, comforting. Zevran shut off his fears to just live in this moment, to cling to love. In life, that's all one had - moments.

"I do," he blurted, but couldn't finish.

"I know." Bannon nuzzled his neck, below his ear. The thief's whisper tickled his skin. "You are the best thing in my life, _amore'_. Remember that. And whatever happens to me, Morrigan must die."

They eased apart, and their eyes met. Zevran clenched his jaw, not trusting his voice. He nodded. One last order from his beloved _patrone_.

Bannon looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he tore his gaze away. He left Zevran to do his duty.

Zevran's eyes stung. He cursed them and clenched his throat, but he couldn't stop watching Bannon go. Perhaps the last glimpse of his lover he'd ever see.

==#==

Bannon gripped the longsword and strode to the Archdemon's head. Its eye opened, the milky membrane slid aside, and its baleful eye fixed on him. That same malevolent eye that haunted his nightmares, that had seared him in the Deep Roads.

He heard a thudding in his ears, a mighty heartbeat. It pulsed in time with his own.

_Kindred. We are One._

He felt his consciousness pulled into that infernal eye, slipping away from his will, from his self.

_Become Me._

"No!" Enraged, he raised the sword and plunged it into that eye, destroying it, and the malevolent brain behind it, roaring his defiance.

Then the world was obliterated in an explosion of light and noise.

And Bannon knew no more.

==_X_==


	30. The After-Party

**The After-Party**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: no  
Nudity: no  
Sex: implied  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Epilogue? I dunno, it's called "The After Party" in my mind. :X Okay, nobody could help me come up with a better title. So there!

* * *

**The After-Party**

==#==

The royal hall was filled with people, of all shapes and sizes and colours. Petticoated ladies, armored dwarves, buckskin-clad elves; everyone wore their finest, or at least the finest they had on hand. Finest of them all was the bronze-skinned elf, in the satin rust tunic. Zevran was definitely getting lucky tonight. Bannon smiled at him in bemusement at all the ladies clustered about the assassin - and a few men. He was probably telling that story again.

Alistair came up on his right, mugs of beer in hand. "So what are you going to do now? Retire from the Wardens?"

"We need to use this good will and heroism to build up the ranks of the Grey Wardens," Bannon told him.

"What? Why? There's no more Archdemon, and there probably won't be for another thousand years or so." Alistair frowned. "It's so dangerous becoming a Warden. Why risk people's lives when we don't have to?"

"If we want there to be Grey Wardens in a thousand years, we had better build up our popularity while we can." The elf quaffed his beer. "We'll promote it as we go on this tour through Ferelden - and Orlais too, even if Anora hates it."

"We should go to Weisshaupt. Report in - and at least get some official Warden hierarchy going on."

"You go to Weisshaupt." Bannon looked for Zevran again. "We need to go to Antiva. We have business there."

"Annnnd... I don't want to know what kind of business. Right?"

Bannon gave him a look. "You already know."

"Hmm." He looked at the elf over the rim of his mug. "Well, just don't get killed. I'd really hate to lose my best friend."

Bannon's throat closed a moment. After all they'd been through... They truly were brothers. "Come on," he scoffed. "After two Crow ambushes, darkspawn, demons, a Broodmother and an Archdemon? How scary can they be?"

"Oh yes; I forgot who I was talking to."

They drank a few moments in silence. Then Zevran slipped through the crowd, an older human in tow. It was Genovan, the artisan in charge of sculpting the monument; he greeted Bannon with a boisterous, "It's an honor, ser!" and ushered them to a side room where they could view the maquette, a miniature of the planned design.

A little clay figure with a sword faced a roaring dragon. Certainly smaller than the Archdemon had been - or perhaps the elf was heroically larger. There was artistic license to consider.

"This looks good," Bannon said.

"Oh, thank you, ser! Of course, it's nothing compared to how grand the actual piece will be. We're ordering marble from Antiva!"

"And it will be up on a base?"

"Yes, ser!" Genovan shuffled through some papers and came up with a sketch of the statue in the center of the Denerim marketplace.

Bannon gestured. "Around the base should be plaques - portraits of each of the Warden companions. Alistair here at the front."

"Aw, pshaw!" the knight exclaimed with a bit of a blush. "Make sure you get my good side." He stretched his neck and posed.

Zevran frowned, tapping his chin with one finger. "I do not think I should be on there."

"Nonsense," Alistair told him. "You helped. With the comedic relief, at least."

"Why are you picking on me so much tonight, Alistair?"

"Did you forget your promise to never tease me again?"

"I'm considering breaking it," the assassin growled.

"Good! Then I get to say 'Oh, and by the way, here's your butt!'"

Zevran groaned.

Meanwhile, Bannon said Genovan, "Zevran's plaque will state how he heroically perished fighting the Archdemon."

"Uhhh...?" The sculptor's brow furrowed as he looked from Bannon to the bickering knight and assassin.

Bannon winked at him.

"Whatever you say, ser!" He scribbled down some notes.

"You should talk to Leliana about the best way to present everyone. I'm sure she has ideas on that. And she can describe Morrigan for you."

"You're going to put her on there?" Alistair asked.

"After what she did to you?" Zevran added venomously.

Bannon put up a forestalling hand. "She _did_ help us, right from the start. And besides..." He eyed Zevran. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"It's not certain that she had anything to do with that," the assassin scoffed.

"Yah. It is."

"Hmph."

"Unless she coerced Riordan into telling us that story just for her benefit," Bannon said. "I don't think so."

"Are you going to go after her?" Alistair asked cautiously.

"I don't think that's wise."

"But what about the-?"

"We can discuss that later." Bannon gave him the eye. "In private." Then he turned back to the artisan. "So... then everyone who died in the battle should have their name carved on plaques, like around the base."

"A-All of them?" Genovan stuttered. "Ser, that was hundreds, if not thousands!"

"You can make them tiles that you can add to, as you go along. It could take months... years of steady work." Bannon nodded at him, and he grinned.

"Yes, ser! But... I'm still not sure how they'd all fit? What if we run out of room on the statue base?"

"Instead of the base, put them all on paving stones around it. Then you can spread out as much as you need."

"Paving stones? To be trod upon? That... doesn't seem respectful."

Bannon said, "They are the very foundation of Ferelden, the strength that upholds our future generations."

"Ohh!" The sculptor jotted down more notes.

Alistair said, "You really want to honor... well, _everyone?_ I mean, that's noble and all, but it is _your_ monument."

"I want everyone in Denerim - for generations to come - to be able to go into the market and say, 'Look, here's the name of my great grandda' and 'There's my great great aunt.'"

"But...," Genovan interjected, "Well... surely the Dalish won't be coming to Denerim market. Or the dwarves."

"With the new King of Orzammar? Who wants to expand and open trade?" Bannon asked. "You bet there will be dwarves in the marketplace. And who knows? A Dalish warrior could marry a City Elf. Decide to move in. There may even be more trade and treaties with the Dalish. You want them to come in here and say, 'Look, they aggrandize their shem selves but forget the sacrifices _we_ made'?"

Genovan gulped. "N-No no. No." He furiously took more notes.

Zevran tugged the sketch towards himself, studying it. "Hmm. If I may..." He began drawing.

Alarmed, Bannon asked, "Zevran, what are you doing?"

"They will be seeing you from behind, no? You are, after all, facing the Archdemon. You should show your mighty thews!"

"Ack!" said Alistair. "Oh, whew, I thought he was going to say- something else."

"Those are not...!" Bannon sputtered. "I-I'm sure my armor was covering that!"

"This is art," the Antivan emphasized. "Not reality. Make sure to show his good side, no?" he added to Genovan with a wink. The man blushed.

Bannon stepped in. "You will take Leliana's advice over anything this guy says!" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Zevran.

"In anything," Alistair added.

"Nonsense!" Zevran scoffed. "I have fine artistic tastes! Have I not proven that?"

"What about that picture of Morrigan's boobs you painted on her tent?" Alistair reminded him.

"Or Alistair with his mighty 'sword'?" Bannon added, making the knight blush furiously.

"Works of art!" the Antivan proclaimed.

Alistair said, "You know, Leliana is penning a children's book, based on that story."

"What?" said Zevran.

"A children's book?" asked Bannon.

"Yeah, she's got an artist replicating the elven stick figure motif. It's hilarious."

The elves shared a gobsmacked look. "Buuuuh," managed Bannon.

Alistair burst out laughing. "Oh, Maker! You two are so easy now that the Blight is over!"

"Pah!" Zevran scoffed.

"No," said Bannon, "I was just playing along to help you gull Zevran."

"No, _I_ was playing along to trick _you_."

Alistair said, "You're both a bunch of liars. And by the way, here's your butts!"

"Argh!" Bannon slapped a hand over his face, while Zevran growled, gritting his teeth.

Alistair just laughed harder at the elves' expense.

==#==

A little later, while Bannon was making the rounds, he came across Wynne in a quiet alcove. "You're looking well," he told the grey-haired mage.

"Thank you. I've been working with First Enchanter Irving to regain my strength."

"Oh? And a little something else?" he insinuated with a broad wink.

"No!" She mock swatted him. "Silly boy!"

"Mm hm," he said, not swayed.

"Maybe Zevran has been a bad influence on you."

"Never! Oh," Bannon said, thinking a moment, "Well... yeah, always."

"Mm hm," Wynne shot back at him.

"Where's Shale?"

"Outside. He doesn't care for parties and crowds." She looked at the carpet, her eyes darkening. "He saved my life."

"I heard. He carried you?" Bannon asked with incredulity. He was quite familiar with the golem's opinion on serving mages, fetching and carrying.

"So I'm told. Of course, I wasn't conscious of it. I was rather... dead. Again."

"I'm glad you're not." Bannon clasped her hand, warming her fingers under his skin. Wynne smiled fondly at him. "You have to finish reading us the tales of the warrior squirrel!"

"Ach!" she scoffed, retrieving her hand. "Can't you boys ever let a tender moment just... be?"

"Nah." He shrugged that notion off. She didn't push him on it, perhaps because it was a party in his honor, and he deserved a break.

Instead she said, "I just wish I knew how to repay Shale."

Bannon thought about it. "Well, you could do more golem research? Shale seems heavily interested in having kindred."

Wynn pressed her lips into a thin line. "His - _her_ \- people are dwarves." Then she sighed. "There's no untangling that skein, is there?"

Bannon shrugged.

"Besides, I'm feeling my age, now. I do _not_ want to go back to crawling around in those dark, dank tunnels."

The two shared a commisserative shudder.

"Maybe somewhere sunny and warm," Wynne said hopefully.

"You could research a nice beach somewhere."

She laughed lightly. "Oh, maybe in the forest of the Dalish. They may have magic we've forgotten."

"We'll be heading down that way soon. If you want to go with us?"

"I should return to the Tower, at least for the winter."

A pang of loneliness struck Bannon. As glad as he was that the Blight was over, he would miss the band of companions, and their adventures together.

Wynne seemed to pick up on his melancholy, and tried to stir him out of his mood. "So you'll be off, traveling?"

"Yep. The Grand Grey Warden tour." He smiled. "Got to boost the Grey Warden fame and fortune while it's still fresh in people's minds. Make sure they keep tradition alive for the next Blight."

Wynne clasped his hand. "Bannon, you really are a good boy. A good man."

He flushed slightly. "Me? Naah, I..."

"Mm hm. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."

==#==

Many people were outside the castle, in the courtyard. The more boisterous ones, and those who didn't care for enclosed spaces. Bannon found Oghren drinking while Sten and Shale compared scars. The golem had some new cracks, while Sten had one horn and half his face torn off by darkspawn. It made him look all the scarier.

"Are you going to retire from being a warrior?" Bannon asked him cautiously. After suffering such a grievous injury, and fighting off more than his fair share of the horde, surely Sten deserved a break.

"The Qun does not care what you look like."

"Really?" said Bannon. "What, elves, humans, dwarves... they're all the same?"

"Yes. Only mages are different."

"Huh." Bannon pondered this state of affairs. Still, he didn't think he'd like it there. "So you're going back?"

"Yes."

"To report on the Grey Wardens?"

"Yes. And your nation. It is... chaotic, yet somehow quite strong."

"Yeah," Bannon had to agree.

"I doubt we could conquer you."

"Conq- wait, _what?_" Bannon almost choked.

Sten continued, oblivious. "However, I think you would allow... what do you call them? A religious enclave. To come and preach. To teach the ways of the Qun."

"Uh... I... I guess so?" The qunari wanted to conquer Ferelden? With religion? Bannon scratched his head. "You think Fereldens will listen?"

"No," said Sten. "I think... too many of your warriors want to be bards." He tilted his head.

"Well, what do you want to be?"

"I want to be worthy of my Asala. To be strong, to be steadfast and true." He looked into the distance, his profile strong.

"Without having someone tell you when and how to be those things?" Bannon asked cannily.

The qunari frowned. "I have much to think about. Thank you, Warden."

==#==

Bannon could only hope he'd prevented a war with wherever Sten was from. He went back inside, wondering whom he should tell. Probably Anora. Great, she'd no doubt blame him for all that.

"Bannon!" Leliana called out to him.

"Hey! Did you know Sten was scouting to plan an invasion of Ferelden?"

The bard just gave him a pitying look.

"Wait. You did? What?"

She sighed and put a hand on one hip. "Honestly, Bannon, when he said he came to see if the prowess of the Grey Wardens was true or - well - just a legend, why did you think he was interested? And all those questions about our traditions and society, the ruling government?"

"Uhh...?" This was the first Bannon had heard.

"That's why you didn't know," Leliana admonished him.

"So... Should I be worried he's going back to report? Do we need to assassinate him?"

"What did he say he was going to report?"

"That the qunari can't conquer us, probably. So instead they'll send missionaries, preaching the Qun?"

"Ah, so a non-violent takeover, then," she said with a pleased nod.

Bannon was not pleased! "B-B-Buh-! Fereldens won't want to live that way!"

"Then you have nothing to worry about, yes?"

He thought for a moment. And didn't come up with much. "Maybe?"

"Good! I hear you will be doing some traveling. I hope I will see you in Val Royeaux."

"Val...? You're going back to Orlais? Wait, are you really a bardic spy for the empire, and not a Chantry Sister?" Come on, like the Blight wasn't enough for one elf to deal with!?

She crinkled her nose in a cute smile. "Why can't I be both?"

"Uh...!?"

"Bannon, honestly. The Maker sent me to help you save the world from the Blight."

"Right..." He looked at her. She looked at him, her blue-grey eyes steadfast and open. "Right." He hoped.

"I will be leaving in the morning for a whirlwind tour of Ferelden," she said.

"Are you coming with us?"

"No, no. I must stop at every town and crofthold, city and manse. Don't worry, I will never be far from you in spirit. Once everyone starts singing The Ballad of Bannon, it will be as if I am everywhere."

"The Ballad of Bannon..." He tried to imagine everyone.. singing about _him!_ Every child, every man, every woman! Singing about his prowess!

"Of course, I must also pen the narrative. Oh, and contract the illuminators for the illustrated adventures. Those will be quite the pride of any library's collection - oh! I must have one sent to you."

"Illustrated?" he asked in worry. Hadn't Alistair said... wait!

"Yes! I was quite inspired by your and Zevran's artistry."

He gaped. "Uh..." This could not be happening.

"For now, though, I bid you farewell, and best of luck." She darted forward and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Ta ta!" She crinkled her nose again and dashed off.

"Buh... Bye? But I thought Alistair was joking about that! Leliana...?"

==#==

Late the next evening, Bannon carried a covered tray down the hall, doing his best not to show how heavy it really was. Anora had posted guards at the end of the guest hall, to fend off well-wishers and glory-seekers. Everyone had a room fit for nobility. Bannon, of course, had the largest at the end of the hall, fit for royalty, like the Hero of Ferelden.

The elf leaned against the broad oak door, wedging the tray up as he groped with one hand for the latch. He timed his entry with the swinging door, as not to drop his burden. Then he edged around and shoved the door closed with one foot.

He blinked a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, wondering why there wasn't even one lamp lit. His breath caught a moment when he saw a wicked gleam in the shadows.

"Oh, help, guards," he deadpanned. "There's an assassin in my room."

Zevran chuckled throatily.

"What are you doing hiding in the dark?"

"Attempting to surprise you."

"You take your life into your own hands there." When Zevran glided forward, Bannon foisted the tray onto him. "Here, help me carry this."

"Why do you need help carrying a- _oof_."

They carted the tray over to the table. Bannon shoved some candlesticks out of the way to make room. Zevran said, "I would ask what you've been up to in the kitchens, but I think I have a good idea."

It was Bannon's turn to chuckle. "I," he said, tugging the lid upward, "am not leaving this room for a week."

The domed cover came free reluctantly, and instead of a simple set of plates and goblets, it was packed top to bottom with fruit, ham, and rolls. The pile couldn't sustain itself, and several apples and oranges rolled off, some all the way to the floor.

Zevran caught one. "Alas, I was hoping you had at least stolen me a feast. No fish chowder?"

"Yuck. And no."

"Bah. Besides," the assassin griped, "this will hardly last you two days, my hungry Warden."

"Oh, I think there will be plenty to eat..." Bannon sidled around behind him and nuzzled his ear.

"'My insatiable Warden' I should say," Zevran corrected with a saucy grin. He wriggled out of Bannon's grasp and led his partner into the bed alcove. "As for me, I plan to not leave this _bed_ for a whole week!" He winked an amber eye. "And to facilitate my oh-so-devious plan...!" he snatched up a dark rectangular object from the nightstand and flourished it.

"It's a...?"

"A gift from Wynne."

"Wynne?" Bannon tried to think what kinky things she would give to the assassin. Then it clicked. "A book?"

"_Si!_ The further adventures of the Antivan warrior squirrel!"

"Wait, when did he become Antivan?" Bannon asked suspiciously.

"A golden-furred squirrel among so many dull grey Ferelden ones?"

"Hey!"

"It is obvious. While we are most deservedly resting and recuperating between other activities..." Zevran waggled his brows. "You can read it to me."

Bannon's mouth started to curl in a little secret smile, as he imagined snuggling up in bed with Zevran, reading together. "Wait," he said, a frown interrupting. "Why do I have to read it to you? Why don't you read it to me?"

"You are a better reader than I," the assassin said quickly. "Your voice, so mellifluous; your tongue so nimble; your lips as-"

"If you want this supposedly Antivan squirrel to have an Antivan accent, you need to read it."

"Nonsense! Your Antivan accent is impeccable!"

"That's not what you called it last time."

"Pah! A jest, of course." Zevran waved that off airily. "You, _mi incrediblie patrone_, can do voices."

Bannon had to admit that was true. Still. "Why should I do all the work? We can read it to each other."

Zevran nodded. "_Si_. You can read the odd-numbered chapters, and I, the even." He smiled. "Come, let us get into bed, with food galore and our book, and start!"

"Hang on." The thief stopped the eager assassin. "If there's an odd number of chapters, that means I have to read more than you." Another thought occurred to him. "And what if there aren't chapters at all?"

"Then you, _amore'_, will be stunningly awesome! Did I not say you are a far better reader than I?"

"Then you should practice more."

"No no no. I shall have the opportunity to learn from a true master." Zevran clasped his hands and made adoring eyes.

Bannon had to admit... that was pretty good. "I think you already picked up the fine art of bullshitting from me."

"Just so! You see? I am your most willing student! Show me more of your incredible talents." Zevran started slowly rubbing Bannon's arms. "And I will teach you mastery of the arts of lovemaking."

The offer was too tempting. Besides, Bannon couldn't argue any further with his mouth so entrapped by the assassin's warm lips.

Swiftly, they were under the covers, and well-provisioned with sustenance and entertainment to stay there all week.

==_XXX_==

* * *

**End Notes:**

And just like that... The End! ...? It's so hard to believe this thing took me just about TEN YEARS!? Maker, say it isn't so!

THANK YOU for making it to the end! I hope you thoroughly enjoyed it as much as I do (and I still like to reread parts from time to time)! Congratulations to my old fans for making the long haul. And welcome new fans! I hope you didn't hurt yourself trying to read it all in one night/weekend! :)

PARTY TIME!


End file.
